


War Crimes

by Lovely_Elbow_Leech



Series: All's Fair [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (not between main ship), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Arguing, Bisexual Disaster Sokka (Avatar), Boats, Bonding, Canon Typical Racism, Codependency, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Hurt Sokka (Avatar), Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Physical Abuse, Protective Sokka (Avatar), Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Sokka & Katara - Freeform, Torture, Trauma, War Crimes, Zhao (Avatar) Is An Asshole, Zhao is a creep, Zuko & Azula - Freeform, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, au after season 1, prisoners of war, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, zhao lives and everyone suffers, zuko/zhao - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28967691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovely_Elbow_Leech/pseuds/Lovely_Elbow_Leech
Summary: Book one ends with two major diffrences: 1. Sokka went on the mission with Hahn (it did not go well) 2. Zhao survives the North Pole and that proves unfortunate for everybody (except Zhao, obviously)Imprisoned on Zhao’s war ship, Sokka and Zuko have to work together to survive. They are not very enthusiastic about this prospect.And they argue.A lot.
Relationships: Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: All's Fair [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124690
Comments: 178
Kudos: 392





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Please heed the tags. There is murder right out the gate, and mature themes throughout. Each chapter will have specific warnings if there will be something nasty or violent. The non/dub con will be off screen, but will be discussed between various characters. If it is something you would like to skip, let me know and I can try to create an edit. If it looks like I have missed a tag that should be added please tell me. 
> 
> Part one (War Crimes) deals with Sokka and Zuko, but part two will add the Gaang, Hakoda and Azula who won't be out done by her brother - if he is going to commit a bit of light treason, she is going to do double the treason, and possibly burn everything to the ground. 
> 
> Warnings for chapter 1: Murder, violence and war crimes.

**Prologue**

Zhao stared down at the maps and charts littering the table. Years of work and research lost in moments. _Years of work._ The moon, as if to spite him, cast her light through the porthole, illuminating the reports detailing the unmitigated disaster the siege of the North Pole had become, the _humiliation_.

The lanterns surged with his rising temper, light flickering across the walls of the ship. He’d had it all within his grasp, the complete decimation of the Northern Water Tribe, his place at the Fire Lord's right hand…and it was gone, all of it.

Well, not all. He calmed his breathing, and the flames dimmed back to their normal glow. Not all. He had achieved some successes amidst the failures, and would have at least a measure of revenge on the people most responsible for his losses. When the Fire Lord received his missives, Iroh would be declared a traitor and be completely removed from the line of secession, as would the _stupid boy_ locked in his hold. Best case scenario, the Fire Lord would order his son's immediate death for his numerous transgressions. Once added together, the prince had managed to achieve quite a long list of treasonous actions, enough that they could not be ignored. Zhao had thought long and hard about telling the Fire Lord of the true events that had occurred at Pohuai stronghold. It would reveal his own failings, but, even though it galled him to admit the Avatar had been in his grasp and escaped, he hoped it might provide the extra push needed to make the Fire Lord act. It would be well worth it if the result was Ozai having the family embarrassment removed quickly and permanently. Stupidity and disrespect was one thing, but treason? One unpunished act of treachery had a tendency to breed others, and the Fire Lord was quick to stamp out even a sniff of it.

Once he had the Fire Lord’s orders in hand, he could teach the brat a lesson in respect to rival the one his father had given him, although perhaps not so publicly. Zhao rubbed a hand over his mouth, pleased with the thought. While the mess at the North Pole had been more due to Iroh’s interference than Zuko’s, the boy had attacked him when he had been tactfully withdrawing from the field, and if not for the arrival of Zhao's men, might have gotten the upper hand. The very idea of that was more humiliation than he could bear, however, the arrival of Zhao's soldiers had tipped the scales in his favour, and the possibility of defeat was only an unpleasant memory, mostly. Zhao touched the smarting wound on his side. Zuko’s flurry of fiery rage when he had been officially arrested for treason had been very entertaining, but the dishonourable little cur had drawn a knife on him. A knife!

Although he wasn’t sure the boy had actually intended to kill him with it, the blade had still hit home, and that was not something to be forgiven easily. Zhao glared at the offending weapon where it lay on his desk. It was an ornate thing, the handle inlaid with pearl and an inscription etched into the blade, clearly earth kingdom in design. A traitor's blade for a traitor prince. He ran a finger along the hilt, his side twinging with pain.

Maybe he would get the chance to return the favour.

A few days to a week, that's all. And then he would know the Fire Lords decision, and the matter could be put to bed, so to speak.

Soothed by the thought, he examined the other papers, reports about the Avatar he had gathered before the…recent unpleasantness. Leaning back in his chair with a smile curling his lip he looked over the rough sketch sent him from Gaipan. It seemed he had been given one more trump card to play.

One of the water rats that had attempted to infiltrate his ship was not only the Avatars companion, but according to this intel, he was also the son of Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe. Hakoda was a nasty thorn in the side of the Fire Navy. Even though his ships were primitive, better suited to pirates, they were fast and raids were deadly more often than not. The man himself had led action against the fleet in the Mo Ce sea which had resulted in the worst naval defeat in recent Fire Nation history. Well, before the North Pole.

Zhao tapped his fingers against the rough paper of the scroll in contemplation. There was an opportunity here - a way to play this to potentially capture the Avatar _and_ take out the Water Tribe scourge with one hostage. It would take careful planning, but he was certain it could be done.

And while he was planning, he would break Hakoda’s son. It would be a balm for Zhao’s wounded pride if nothing else.

He paused reading the last reports when there was a knock at his chamber door.

“Enter,” he called.

Lieutenant Ro saluted as he stepped over the threshold. “Admiral, the prisoners are ready for you.”

Zhao pushed himself up wincing as his stitches pulled, an indignity he _would_ be paying back to Prince Zuko. What man of the blood used _blades_? One whose bending was weak, he supposed.

“And the result of the questioning?”

Ro kept his eyes off the charts and on Zhao's face. A good officer, loyal to the Fire Lord, and loyal to _him_. Perhaps he would be due a promotion after the made port. “Three seasoned fighters who might be withholding information,” Ro told him, “we have had them transferred to Commander Tsung’s ship, as you requested. Aside from the boy, the rest are cannon fodder.”

“Excellent, lets get them on deck. Bring Hakoda’s whelp too, let him see what happens to men who raise arms against the Fire Nation.”

The weather on deck was frigid, Zhao _hated_ the poles, he hated the cold and he hated the Water Tribe. What kind of people chose to live in these conditions? Savages, to every last man and woman. He warmed himself as he watched his men pull the bound prisoners out of the hold and force them to their knees. They glared at him, and he looked calmly back. These barbarians had destroyed his fleet, but only with the help of the Avatar. The Fire Navy would have won the day if the fight had been fair.

Hakoda’s boy was clearly the youngest. Stripped of his boots, belt and outer coat, he was glaring and shivering, apparently even water rats felt the cold when removed from their furs. Zhao stared back, keeping a smirk off his face. The kid looked small and bony, barely old enough to hold a spear, let alone fight with one.

The other prisoners were a rag tag bunch, ranging in age from perhaps twenty to close on sixty. A sorry lot, who were due a sorry end.

Zhao nodded to First Lieutenant Chen, who stepped forward to pull a prisoner out of the line by his stupid tuft of hair, dragging him until he faced the remaining men. Zhao nodded again, and without sound or hesitation, Chen drew his blade across the man's throat. He kept his grip in the prisoner's hair until the last of his life was gone, spilled across the icy deck. A few of the men began to pray; perhaps they were pleading with their snow spirits. Pointless, _pathetic_.

There was a visceral feeling of power in this; it made him feel alive like nothing else could - to control life and death with a flick of a finger or a nod of the head. Watching the prisoners' faces as they realised there was no avoiding their fate. Some gazed forward, brave and determined. Others, their features creased in fear, turned their eyes to the moon in supplication or pleading.

They all died the same though.

Hakoda’s sons eyes were open wide in shock and fright, like the world was ending right in front of him. Perhaps it was, he was just an unblooded child.

Or, he had been. Now he’d had a taste of what his future held.

Zhao nodded; Chen dropped the dead man, and pulled out the next.

By the time he was done, the deck was slick and stained. The moon remained impassive to her peoples pleas, casting long bleak shadows over the endless ocean.

**Chapter 1.**

Sokka had never felt so afraid in his life. He’d faced certain death before, when the Fire Nation ship had emerged out of the fog at the South Pole like some giant, marauding serpent from a spirit tale, ready to crush him, and he had been the only thing standing between it and his people, his _sister_. Watching that metal monstrosity break through the ice, he had known a fear right down to his bones, his knees had shook, and his breathing had been nothing but wild gasps.

But it hadn't been like _this._ He’d been prepared to fight, because he had to, and perhaps he hadn't done _fantastically_ at beating the bad guys, but he hadn’t given up. And he would have kept going until death took him; a good, proper, warrior’s death.

If, you know, Aang hadn't shown up to save the day, or get kidnaped or whatever.

This was different, he was completely and utterly powerless. What he had just witnessed, up there on the deck was _terrifying_ in a whole new way. Watching as each man was pulled out of line and murdered right in front of him. Not knowing who was next, too frightened to even feel grief or anger, all the while watching grown men, with beads in their hair and full beards, like his _dad_ , watching them die with their eyes wide in fear and desperation. Their blood had been dark and shiny, like oil against the metal of the deck.

Yeah, that had been true unthinking terror and Sokka thought he might never recover from it. Even now, some unknown period of time later, he was still shaking, and he was honestly relieved he hadn't soiled himself up there. Small victories.

Speaking of small victories, he wasn’t alone in the ship's dirty, damp hold. In his own cage, bruised, barefoot and glaring, with his hands manacled in front of him, was Prince Zuko. And wasn’t that a weird turn up for the books? Sure, there had been a lot of yelling about traitors on both sides, during the various interactions between him and Zhao, so clearly there was some power struggle taking place. But it was still a very strange thing to see.

Aside from the furious looking prince, the rest of the accommodation was stark. Lit by a single torch against the far wall and formed from ugly floor to ceiling metal bars, the cells made up for one half of the space and contained nothing but a chamber pot each. There wasn’t much in the rest of the hold either, but what there was made Sokka extremely nervous. A table, a chair, a barrel and a pair of ominous looking hanging chains with an even more ominous looking hook dangling from the end of them. The sort of hook you hung meat on to dry or smoke...Yeah, not very reassuring, especially after everything that he had just witnessed.

Reluctant to dwell on it, Sokka turned his eyes back to Zuko. Frankly, despite the slightly dubious nature of the company provided, he was happy not to be alone. It gave him something else to focus on rather than the rolling fear in his guts. And...oh spirits, he didn’t want to _think_ about it.

So instead, he attempted to form some sort of expression that wasn’t related to gibbering in fright, and examined his cell mate as obnoxiously as he was capable of, which was quite obnoxious, even if he did say so himself.

Zuko looked like he had been on the losing end of a fight with a polar bear dog. His stupid plume of hair was bedraggled and limp, knocked askew so it lilted slightly to the left. His right eye was so bruised it almost looked similar to the scared one, and his mouth was puffy with a split lip. Good, Sokka was glad to see he wasn’t the only one having a really bad day.

“What?” the prince snapped, scowling harder and making his face look even more awful, which was impressive.

Sokka pondered him for a moment, letting his eyes trail slowly over the ripped clothing and dirty feet. He was wearing white for some baffling reason. Didn’t the Fire Nation wear white for mourning? Or was that the Earth Kingdom? Was Zuko even still a prince, what with being locked in a damp hold? Or was there some sort of serious coup afoot? So many questions. The answers could be useful to know, all information on the enemy was good information. He could use it when he got out, and he _would_ get out. His mind automaticity sheared away from the remembered flash of blood and the gurgling wheeze old Mammak had made as his last breath left him.

“Just enjoying the view,” Sokka gasped, blinking away the memory and forcing his tone up into something light. He hopped it was light, he could barely hear it though the rushing in his ears.

“What view?” Zuko croaked, his voice, by contrast, sounded like he had shouted himself raw. But, yelling seemed to be his usual method of communication, so perhaps that shouldn't have been a surprise.

“Your ugly face, all beat up,” Sokka informed him pleasantly. “Never thought I would be happy to see you, but here we are.”

“Shut up, peasant,” Zuko muttered.

Aware of the line of solid bars separating them, Sokka made an expression vaguely reminiscent of a smile, although the feeling was all wrong on his face, with the blood of his sister tribe still staining the bare soles of his feet. He hated the Fire Nation. _Hated_ them. “Make me.”

And whoa, maybe he should remember firebenders didn't need to touch you to kill you, as smoke issued from Zuko’s nostrils like steam out of a kettle. But that was it, no fiery death. Perhaps he was just too tuckered out. Well, murder, mayhem and attempted kidnap was hard work, maybe even princelings needed a nap after a hard day of subjugating and warmongering.

Once he had confirmed that nothing was actually on fire, Sokka felt a little bolder. “So,” he tried, conversationally. Although his voice warbled a little on the word, he felt he was doing well to hide the fact he would rather be screaming. “Prison, huh? Seems like your sparkling personality made an impact on old Captain Mutton Chops.”

Zuko blinked at him a little. Perhaps he had taken a bang to the head, or maybe he was always this slow to process. “Mutton chops?” he asked, with an edge of confusion. Ah, possibly it was a vernacular problem and he just wasn’t familiar with the terminology. Sokka made a gesture to indicate Zhao’s sideburns.

The prince’s face registered recognition, and then returned to its customary scowl. “Zhao's a fool,” he snarled.

“And yet you’re the one in jail. Boat jail. A jail boat.” That got a low growl, but Sokka ignored him, “And Zhao is out there sunning himself on the deck and murdering prisoners of war like it's going out of style.” Sokka tapped a finger against his chin, mockingly. “Hmm.”

Zuko continued to scrunch his battered face up in a glower like he’d just eaten rancid turtle seal- meat. “Murder? People get executed in war, that's what happens to...” He paused, apparently reluctant to finish the sentence.

Sokka smiled, and this time it felt good and nasty, “Traitors?” he offered, helpfully, keeping his tone sweet, despite the feeling of fear that went swirling through his guts again. It was so powerful it made his limbs feel weak and he was glad to be sitting so he didn’t embarrass himself falling over. This time however, the fear brought with it a rush of anger. “See, I get being killed in battle, that _is_ war. But helpless, bound men? No trial? Not even a deceleration of their sentence?”

Zuko opened his mouth again and Sokka cut him off. “Men on their knees, butchered like cattle-sheep, and with less dignity.” he smirked and he suspected it wasn't a pleasant expression. Spirits he was angry, but anger was good, it kept the terror at bay. “What did you say you were down here for again?”

Zuko had another blinky moment of processing. Maybe he _had_ been hit in the head, he was certainly beat up enough. “That...” He paused and licked his lips, “If that's what Zhao did to those men, then that _is_ wrong,” he said at last. Then he returned to a mega, scrunchy faced glare. “He’s wrong, and a traitor to our nation. And when my father hears of this, he’ll be punished.” With this pronouncement he looked slightly less like he was constipated, and went back to his regular level of scowling.

“Do you really think the Fire Lord doesn't know what his soldiers do?” Sokka asked, baffled. “I thought he was supposed to be the supreme leader? The big boss man who rules with an iron fist.” He demonstrated an iron fist of power beating its subjects with his hand, in case Zuko got confused again.

“Of course he doesn't know! And when he does, he’ll stop it, and Zhao will be dealt with,” Zuko said with the conviction of a man who had spent a lifetime repeating the same nonsense to himself in the hopes that if he said it enough, it would become true. In another life, Sokka might have felt pity for him. But here and now? He just felt contempt.

“Right, the Fire Lord is known for his mercy,” Sokka sneered with his whole face and then some.

“He’s not cruel without reason!”

“I see, so it’s people like you and Zhao who are to blame?”

“I _wouldn't_!” Zuko said, his volume climbing in his indignation. “I wouldn't allow such dishonourable practices aboard my ship! Or in my navy, I would stamp it out. Even in war people, prisoners, should be dealt with properly. There are protocols, rules.”

“Right, sure. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

They fell silent for a while. Zuko steaming (literally) over his honour, or perhaps the rather shitty example of his nation's idea of honour, which was honestly non-existent as far as Sokka could tell.

Sokka just wanted it to be last week. Last week when he was going to see if he could get Yue to go on a date, when he was with his sister, and Aang, and when he hadn't witnessed an old man be slaughtered with less care you would give to a pig-chicken. Hadn't seen the fear in his eyes, hadn't heard the frightened squeal that escaped through his teeth, hadn’t realised even brave warriors pissed themselves at the moment of death.

He didn’t want to think any more, but he couldn't _stop_ , everything just led back to the helpless terror.

So, talking it was. “You never answered my question, your royal princeliness.”

Zuko graced him with another ugly scowl. Did he even have another expression? Or was it just that or confusion? “Why should I tell you anything?” he asked.

“Do you have something better to do? Perhaps write a lovely flowery speech for your subjects? Maybe you would rather recite the names of your dead? That’s what I’ve been doing, and it’s getting a little tiring, what with the ever growing list. So humour me. Why are you stuck in a dirty prison hold on Mutton Chops’ floating abattoir?”

“A mistake,” Zuko muttered.

Sokka snorted. “A _mistake_? They locked you up in here by accident? Or wait, was it a case of mistaken identity? Is that,” he waved a hand in the general direction of Zuko’s face, “is that a common fashion statement for rogue Fire Nation teens? Did everyone get one to match your royal visage?”

That earned him a scowl, with some added growl, and a bit of smoke. Nice.

“It was a _mistake_. When my father hears about it, when he hears my side of the story, he will order my release.”

“And what? Zhao will let you go? Just like that?” Sokka asked dubiously. That didn't make any sense.

“Yes.”

“So Zhao hasn’t captured you to use against your father?”

More confused face. “What do you mean?”

“I assumed he’d captured you as a… bargaining chip, like for a ransom or something. Or that he wanted to overthrow the Fire Lord. You know, politics.”

Zuko looked slightly aghast. “People don't want to overthrow the Fire Lord, he’s… he’s the Fire Lord!”

Now it was Sokka’s turn to do some blinking. “Which is a good reason for wanting to overthrow him, no? I mean aside from the fact he’s a warmongering, colonizing, culture destroying, murdering, tyrant. Apart from that, there are always people who want to overthrow their leaders. It’s a power thing.”

“Not in the Fire Nation!”

“Wow, smells like denial in here.” Sokka wafted a hand in front of his nose. “But if there was someone who would do something like ransom a prince back to his Tyrant Lord, then Zhao would be that person. He reads like a power hungry kind of guy – judging from his very tedious monologuing, he seems like the kind of man who would thirst for it.” He paused to see if Zuko had anything to add, but he was just making his angry face and staring at the floor like it had personally offended him. Who knows, perhaps it had. Sokka sighed. “I’m just saying, if power was a thing you could bathe in, Zhao would be submerged neck deep in it twenty three hours a day, and the remaining hour he would spend gloating in the mirror about the other twenty three.”

Zuko seemed to consider that, frowning slightly with his lower lip pushed out a bit. He looked, almost…hopeful.

That was interesting. Why would he be hopeful that Zhao might be holding him for ransom? The only conclusion Sokka could come to was that whatever he was being detained for was much worse. “What other reason does he have for keeping you prisoner? If not for political clout?” Sokka asked.

The hopeful expression changed into something... shifty. Somebody had clearly been a very naughty Fire Prince, and he knew it. Zuko did not seem to be very good at hiding his feelings, unless those feelings were anger. He fidgeted in place a little, looking even more guilty. “There was a misunderstanding,” he said at last, “and Zhao hates me. So he’s planning to use that misunderstanding against me.”

“Please, be more vague.” Sokka rolled his eyes, even as he once again waved off Zuko’s attempts to speak. “So he wants to use this _misunderstanding_ to turn your father against you? That makes some sense, I guess.” Sort of.

“What would you know about it anyway?” the prince snapped, “You’re just a peasant.”

He loved that insult just a little too much. “I'm the son of a chief, I _learned_ about politics.” Mostly from Gran Gran, but whatever.

Zuko’s freakishly yellow eyes widened a little behind scar tissue and bruises. “What chief?”

Oh _shit_. That was the kind of information that was not good to give out to the enemy. _Damn_ it. “A small, unimportant one,” he said. And wow, convincing. Very good, Sokka.

Zuko stared at him with his nasty cat-snake eyes. “That’s not information you should share with…Captain Mutton Chops,” he offered, after a moment.

“Why do you care?”

“About you? I don’t. But I don’t want _him_ to get anything he wants. Not information on the Avatar, not information on your people, nothing.”

Pettiness. Sokka could get with pettiness, he was the king of petty. “You really hate him, huh?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Well. That makes two of us, I guess.”

“I guess it does.”

………...

Taiju pulled his eye away from the peephole and carefully closed the hatch when the door to the chamber opened. He straightened and saluted. “Admiral Zhao.”

“Lieutenant Taiju, at ease.” Zhao said. He looked pleased with himself. “Anything to report on the prisoners?

“Not much, sir. They’ve been discussing...politics.” To be honest, Taiju had been a little disquieted by the idea of someone overthrowing the Fire Lord, you just didn’t mention that sort of thing in casual conversation, not if you wanted to keep your head on your shoulders.

“A thrilling discussion I’m sure. And how are they enjoying the facilities?”

“Mostly they’ve just been baiting each other.” Well, the Water Tribe boy had been doing most of the baiting, and the prince most of the yelling but it didn’t seem worth getting into the specifics unless he was asked. He also opted not to inform Zhao of the rather unflattering words used to describe him. The only thing the prisoners seemed to agree on was the dubious nature of the Admirals parentage (a weasel-snake and a pig-chicken had been offered as possible options) and a variety of colourful insults regarding his facial hair.

“Well, keep me updated. A few more days and we’ll up the stakes.”

The Admiral’s smirk gave Taiju a chill. He respected Zhao as a soldier and a leader, and had been nothing but outwardly loyal to him. But he didn't like him. He didn't like what he had done with the Water Tribe prisoners and he didn't like the sort of things he did in his private life. He didn't like the idea of what he might do to the prince, if his father did strip him of his birthright, it was unlikely to be a quick or kind end. Prince Zuko was a traitor, and he should be shipped back to Caldera to be put to death as was right and proper, but it should be at the Fire Lord's hand, and his alone.

Still. It was none of his business really, not unless he got instructions saying otherwise. In many ways he hoped he didn’t.

“Yes sir,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your head looks like an egg with mould growing on it,” Sokka said, by way of a good morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta burkesl17, who has managed to wrangle my dyslexic nonsense. All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Warnings: references to violence.

Sokka was surprised to wake up. Not because he thought he would be murdered in his sleep, although he supposed that might have been a distinct possibility, he was surprised he had fallen asleep at all. The fear of what he would see behind his closed eyes and the unpleasant squirming in his belly had kept him awake even after Zuko seemed to have fallen into a doze, leaning against the far wall. But exhaustion must have caught up with him eventually. He hadn’t dreamed. Perhaps his brain had just been pushed to its limits by the events of the previous few days and shut down. He couldn't blame it.

Yawning, he rubbed at his face. Sleeping hadn’t done much to dispel the horror of yesterday, but there were other pressing matters to deal with. Like where in the world was he? He could feel the motion of the ship beneath him, it was very different to Water Tribe ships, with the humming and clanking of the engines. He kind of wished he could get a look at one of them, see how they worked. There must be a good application for them, something useful, rather than this stark and stifling murder boat. Mostly however, he wished he had some boots or even socks; his feet were freezing. He looked at them, wiggling his toes in an effort to get some blood moving. They were dirty, smeared with soot and _other things_. He closed his eyes to fight back a twist of nausea.

He missed his sister. And oh spirts _Katara_. Was she even alive? Was she hurt? Was she worried? Of course she would be worried, they probably thought he was _dead_. A new feeling lodged in his chest, somewhere between panic and despair. It was so intense it threatened to overcome him. Hadn’t she lost enough, she had to lose him too? Shit, he didn't even know who'd won the _battle_. He assumed the Water Tribe had, seeing as if they’d lost, there would have been a great deal more insufferable gloating from Mutton Chops.

Opposite him, in his own cell, Zuko suddenly jerked awake, tense and wild eyed as he took in his surroundings. There was a light dusting of dark stubble coming in over his scalp. It looked stupid - stupider than normal.

“Your head looks like an egg with mould growing on it,” Sokka said, by way of a good morning.

“Shut up, water rat,” Zuko grunted back.

“Or what?”

Zuko lifted his manacled arms and let rip a small burst of flame. Sokka pulled back into his own corner, scrabbling against the metal floor, but no more fire was forthcoming and even that effort had left Zuko looking exhausted. Clearly he was low on fire juice.

“Toasty,” Sokka said, pretending he hadn’t flinched, and perhaps tempting fate just a little. He was just glad to have something else to focus on, rather than the new feelings of endless panic over his sister which added a new, unhappy layer to the fear that still hadn’t left him after Zhao's little power play yesterday. Spirits, his mind was a mess.

Being a very predictable person, Zuko scowled at him and turned his face pointedly away. _Arsehole_. Sokka eyed his clothes again. White; and while he was stripped to his under-shirt, his pants looked warm, like they were made for the cold, like they were made to blend in with the snow. There was a strong possibility he was wearing white for _camouflage_ , which meant he had been involved in the fight somehow.

“Zuko?” He asked.

Zuko cut his visible eye at him. “ _Prince_ Zuko.”

Sokka resisted sticking his tongue out. Sometimes, you had to be nice if you wanted something. _So be nice_. He grit his teeth. “ _Prince_ Zuko. If I ask you something, will you answer me?”

Zuko turned back to look at him. “That depends on what it is.” He shifted, straightening his spine and tucking his feet under him, clearly Sokka wasn’t the only one with cold toes.

“Information, about what happened at the North Pole.”

Zuko seemed wary, but he wasn’t saying no. Sokka considered trying a winning smile, but he suspected that would have the opposite effect to the one he was aiming for.

“Are you going to give me something in return?” Zuko asked, not unreasonably.

“That depends what it is,” Sokka shot back. He was not doing very well at the asking politely thing. He just really didn't want to be nice to a murdering ashmaker, not today. He took a calming breath. “My sister. Was she…do you know if she’s alive? If she’s okay?”

Zuko looked at him for a moment, assessing and surprisingly, not scowling. “I saw her. She uh, froze me to a wall. And then later, I think she knocked me out.” He scratched awkwardly at the stubble on his head. “She was very angry and very much alive when I last saw her. As far as I know the Fire Nation retreated after that, so I see no reason she should have been hurt.”

The relief was almost as dizzying as the fear had been. “Thank you. I…Thank you.” Sokka took a few deep breaths.

Zuko nodded, he looked a little perplexed.

Sokka waved a hand at him, momentarily distracted by trying to get his own feet tucked against his body to warm up. “I owe you one. Ask, I’ll answer if I can.” As long as it wasn’t about anything too important.

But there was only ever going to be one question, wasn’t there?

“Do you know where the Avatar is?”

Sokka sighed out through his nose, long and deep. “ _Seriously_? As far as I know he’s still in the North Pole driving his waterbending master up the wall. I probably know less than you do!”

“Do you know where he’s going?”

Sokka scrubbed his dirty hands down his face. “Look, Zuko, real talk. Firstly, if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, secondly, when confronted with a war and the impending doom of fiery death at the hands of the fiery Fire Nation, he took a detour to play with hopping llamas. _Llamas_ , Zuko. They spit, and they smell. I don’t care how bouncy they are, they’re awful and no help with the aforementioned fiery doom situation! He could be going anywhere! I really have no clue.”

Zuko blinked. “Llamas?”

“Llamas. That _hop_.”

The prince's expression was both puzzled and pondering. “Llamas aren’t so bad,” he said, after a moment. “They’re very fluffy.” Then, apparently realising _they’re very fluffy_ , was an actual sentence to come out of his mouth, he looked momentarily panicked. “They make good wool. For coats,” he added, as if that made it better.

Sokka stared at him. “Well, if I ever see Aang again, I’ll ask him to let you know where to find them, and you can go...make coats. Or whatever,” he said slowly.

Zuko went a little pink under the bruises. “Are we done with this?” he snapped. Ah, a return to the regular array of scowls. Normality had returned and all was right with the world.

They lapsed into a long, uncomfortable silence. Sokka didn't like quiet, it gave him far too much time for thoughts and feelings. And right now? Those were public enemy number two, right after the entirety of the Fire Nation.

And, just to add insult to injury, he was hungry, starving even, and desperate for a drink. He and the other prisoners had been given a cup of water each before being brought up on the deck. Had that been a mercy? Or a piece of fool's gold to let them think they would live? Yesterday, he was pretty sure he would never want to eat again, but now it looked like his body was determined to keep trying to survive, despite the horrors he had witnessed. He wasn’t entirely sure what to think about that; wanting food, while there was literal blood staining his feet. He wasn’t even sure whose blood it was and he wasn't sure that mattered.

Why was he alive when they weren't? The answer was obvious, he was the Avatar’s companion and Zhao was hoping to use that. But there was still a nagging feeling there had been a mistake and he should have died with the rest of his people. It didn't feel real, it was like yesterday, with all the blood and the horror had belonged to someone else. It was something that had _happened_ to someone else. Except it had happened to him.

The anger returned, this time facing inwards. Who was he to cry about watching people die? You know who had really suffered? The dead.

The people who were never returning to their families. The men who had given everything and hadn't even been granted a death worthy of them. Mummak, old enough to be his grandpa, who had helped him with his armour and told him he looked like a man, who had pounded him on the back hard enough almost knock him off his feet and who had been proud of him for his choice to join a stupid suicide mission. And Sokka had _felt_ proud, with an elder praising him. He had felt like he was doing something important. For what? Mummak was dead, so were the other men, and it was just him. Alive, alone and terrified like a child.

It was unbearable. So much so, when the door swung open and a soldier walked in, Sokka was relieved to have something to take his mind off it. Even though a Fire Nation officer was almost certainly not going to be a good thing, at least it was something else, and not just him buffeted in the maelstrom of his own thoughts.

The soldier was perhaps in his late twenties, black haired and clean-shaven with what might have passed for a handsome face if he hadn't looked so smug and arrogant. It was an ugly expression on him.

“Your Highness,” the soldier said, as he stepped close to the bars, smirking at Zuko. There was clearly some bad blood there, big surprise. Zuko didn't respond to the taunt in the words other than to narrow his eyes, a remarkable show of restraint that certainly wouldn’t last.

Running his gaze over the soldier’s hateful red uniform, Sokka noticed he was holding two tin mugs. A lot could be forgiven if they were going to be given water. Just the thought of it sent the thirst clawing the back of his throat so hard he burned with it.

Perhaps sensing his desperation, the soldier’s amber eyes settled on Sokka and his lips twitched up. “Thirsty, little rat?” he asked.

Sokka said nothing, he wouldn't give this animal the satisfaction. But deep in the back of his mind he wondered just how long he could hold out. He needed water, and he needed it soon.

The man laughed lightly, and turned to the barrel against the far wall, dipping and filling each cup.

“Water for you,” he said, mockingly as he set one down outside the bars of each cell. Sokka’s eyes locked onto it, he wanted it, but he wasn’t going to reach for it, not with that smug hog-moneky watching. He would wait to see if the soldier got bored with taunting them. Spirits he hoped he would just leave.

“I won’t forget this, Lieutenant Ro,” Zuko said, making Sokka jump. He'd been so absorbed in not lunging for the water he’d forgotten the prince was even there.

Zuko stood, but didn’t move towards the bars. “And you'll answer for it,” he said, his voice was a dry rasp, but somehow, despite his battered, dirty and unkempt state, he managed to sound imperious.

Lieutenant Ro raised a dark eyebrow. “Someone will, your Highness, but it won't be me.” He bent to place some sort of flat biscuity item on top of Sokka’s cup. He very pointedly did not add one to Zuko’s. “Enjoy your last days, traitor,” he said with a _very_ nasty smile.

Zuko glared. “Dismissed,” he said, turning away like Ro was a servant not worthy of his attention.

Sokka had to give it to Zuko, for someone who didn’t appear to be very bright, he sure knew how to get under peoples’ skin. Ro’s face slowly turned an interesting shade of red and contorted into an unsettling expression of hate. He looked like he might want to get his incineration on, and Sokka edged backwards, just in case he was a bender and actually _did_ try to set Zuko on fire. Sokka couldn't really blame him for the impulse, but he didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

With an apparent effort, Ro seemed to get control of himself and smiled tightly, it was not a kind expression and all the hair stood up on Sokka’s arms. There was something about this man that Aang all sorts of alarm bells he didn’t even know he had, and he wished to every spirit he knew, even the ones he didn’t believe in, that Zuko would stay silent, and the man would just go away.

Thankfully, today, they were listening.

“As you wish, your Highness,” Ro said, mockery dripping from his words as he made his way towards the door, slowly, not looking back.

Sokka realised he was shaking. He couldn't put his finger on what had upset him so much, but he was pretty certain given a chance that man would hurt them both and enjoy every moment of it.

“Another one of your fan club?” He asked Zuko, just to break free of the fear that was clutching at his limbs, keeping them curled against his chest.

Zuko grunted, still facing the far wall and glaring at it like he wanted to set it on fire.

Sokka shrugged, he shook himself free of the lingering fear and unfolded his stiff legs, heaving himself up to snatch his cup and food through the bars.

Sitting back he took a long sip from his mug. The water was stale, but it was cool and wet and felt like the best thing he had ever put in his mouth. He wanted to gulp it all down, but he held back and instead examined his biscuit. It was a flattish, dull beige disk and felt like a bit of wood in his hands - it was distinctly unappetising.

Leaving it be for the time being, he watched as Zuko seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, before he tossed his head, causing his bedraggled hair to flop ridiculously, and moved to retrieve his own cup. Ro had helpfully left Zuko’s mug just out of comfortable reach, so he had to stretch through the bars to grab it. He winced a little as he did so, like the motion pained him. Sokka figured he probably had injuries that matched the bruises on his face under his shirt. He himself had come through the battle, such as it had been, with only minor bumps and scrapes. Shocking really, but useful – he would be in good shape to make his escape when the time came.

Zuko lowered himself back to his favourite spot against the far wall and took a long drink from his cup before he returned to his usual occupation of scowling at everything like it had just insulted his mother.

Sokka ignored him for the moment and went back to inspecting his food. He _thought_ it was supposed to be food. He attempted to snap a bit off, but it refused to break. He was weak with hunger and exhaustion, but he wouldn’t be defeated by food, he just _wouldn't_. He glared at it, and tried again to split the blasted thing, grunting with the effort. S _tupid biscuit._ He considered chucking it against the wall or stamping on it, but resisted the show of temper and instead centred himself and tried again, and again, until eventually perseverance won out and it snapped into two jagged pieces.

Now victory had been achieved, he was still unsure how to eat the cursed thing, even the broken edge was still as hard as a rock. He noticed Zuko shooting little glances at it, and Sokka felt a burst of indignation; like he could do any better! But when the sneaky looks were not followed up with mockery, even when Sokka gave him the stink eye, he realised his interest indicated something else; Zuko was probably just as hungry as Sokka was.

This left Sokka with a moral quandary. He didn't know when more food would be forthcoming, and he didn't really want to feed a bloody ashmaker. But…Zuko had given him a small kindness earlier, and he deserved one back. Sokka sighed, resigned. Shifting himself forward slightly, he held a piece between the bars that separated them.

Zuko stared at it like it was a wild bat-snake, good eye wide with confusion.

“You want it or not?” Sokka asked, exasperated. Perhaps it wasn't edible after all, and this was some big joke on the Water Tribe savage.

“Why?” Zuko asked, still looking perplexed. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“It’s food, isn’t it?” Sokka asked. “That’s actually a serious question, because I have doubts. It seems more like something you might use to slate a roof.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “It’s food. Why are you giving it to _me_?”

“In thanks, take it and we’re even. The llamas weren’t an equivalent exchange.”

Zuko pondered this for a moment, but then gave a sharp nod and shuffled closer to reach a hand out to take it. He seemed mildly surprised when Sokka didn’t snatch it away.

Sokka decided he felt better for sharing, he didn't like the thought of owing Zuko for something. Satisfied, he stuck the biscuit in his mouth and attempted a bite; it was so hard he thought he felt a tooth crack. He withdrew it and glared with betrayal. “What is this stuff? It’s not food!” He moaned, and so what if his voice had reached a plaintive sort of wail? He was completely justified.

Zuko snorted. “Try dipping it in your water to soften it first,” he said. Sokka watched as the prince did as he suggested and dunked his half biscuit in his cup, letting it rest there for a while before lifting it to his mouth.

Dubiously, Sokka did the same. “You eat this stuff often?”

Zuko shrugged. “When times are hard.”

Sokka tried nibbling on the soggy end of his biscuit, there was an improvement in the texture, but it tasted like ashes. “The Fire Nation suffering from a famine no one mentioned?” he asked, wincing as the…stuff coated his tongue.

Zuko stuck his back in the cup. “It’s hardtack, Water Tribe. I lived on a ship for three years. It’s what you eat when everything else is gone.”

“I would have jumped overboard,” Sokka grumbled. He missed meat. Not as much as he missed his sister or his freedom, but it was still high up the list. He missed all food that wasn’t this, even the little round nuts Aang liked to snack on were better than this food _travesty_ , and those were bitter and oily to eat.

Zuko sneered a little, the motion pulling the scab on his lip unpleasantly. “And then you would have drowned, which is worse than eating ships biscuit.”

“Only just.”

Zuko shot him an amused glance over the top of his mug, and Sokka marvelled at the new expression. “When it gets really bad, even hardtack can get infested, and you have to dip it in heated water to make the weevils come out before you eat it.”

“Spirits above and below, I don’t want to know,” Sokka whined. He inspected his biscuit again, this time for signs of life, but there didn’t seem to be anything moving in it. He wasn’t sure how anything could get far enough into it’s impenetrable surface to infest it anyway, the stuff was as solid as a lump of clay. “Do you eat the weevil tea after?” he asked.

“Gross, _no_.” Zuko looked suitably disgusted, which was pleasing.

“Just checking.”

They dipped and chewed for a while. The food was helping settle Sokka’s stomach and his mind, despite the unpleasantness of the taste.

A thought occurred to him as he washed his last mouthful down with a little of the now slightly crumby water. “Hey, Zuko, do you even know my name?”

Zuko looked at him, blank faced as he swirled his nasty hardtack in his own cup. “Appa?” he said, after a moment.

“Appa? Appa’s the bison!” Sokka yelled, appalled.

“Oh, I thought the flying cow thing was Momo.”

“Flying _cow_!” Sokka’s voice hit an impressive and embarrassing high note. The worst thing was, he couldn't tell if the jerk was joking or not. Did he even know how to joke? Zuko’s face was impassive as he chewed on his disgusting biscuit thing. Not a twitch. Sokka let out an aggrieved sigh. “It’s Sokka. _Sokka_ , two syllables, easy to remember.”

“Right,” Zuko said, still chewing. He was either really dumb, or secretly hilarious, and Sokka couldn't even begin to tell which it was.

“ _Arsehole_ ,” he said, with feeling.

Zuko smirked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You do realise you blink like you have soot in your eye every time you lie, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta burkesl17, who has managed to wrangle my dyslexic nonsense. All mistakes are my own.

It turned out, to no one's surprise, that being locked in a boat jail was boring. So, very, very boring. And _cold_. Sokka hated it. He hated the inaction, he hated not knowing where he was, or where he was going, he hated the endless buzz of fear in his veins.

The thirst and the hunger was an ever gnawing, churning presence that consumed all thought if you let it, and in this situation, there was little else to take your mind _off_ it. They were fed and watered, but it was never enough. By Sokka’s estimate, it had only been maybe three or four days, but it felt like an age. There was no natural light, just a lantern on the far wall, and as far as he could tell the visits to deliver food and water were randomly timed, probably to keep them off balance. It was working.

Zuko still hadn’t been given his own food and was relying on Sokka’s reluctant good nature to provide him with sustenance. He had said thank you, in an angry, grunting sort of way, but he wasn't acting overly grateful. He mostly spent his time fuming or dozing, when he wasn’t being poked into squabbling over nonsense – which was quite often because he was very easy to get a rise out of and as previously mentioned, Sokka was _bored out of his mind_.

Prison also had some other unpleasant downsides, like the facilities. They each had their own chamber pot, and although dehydration meant they weren’t using them a lot, their jailers hadn't bothered to have them cleaned. Sitting in a room with a bucket of your own waste was disgusting and dehumanising. Back home you wouldn't keep animals like this.

The chamber pot situation also brought up other issues. Using it hadn’t been much of a problem for Sokka, he was used to close quarters, and there hadn’t been much privacy traveling these past few months. It was only when he realised Zuko looked uncomfortable that he started to feel awkward himself. And then, that weirdness had made him think about when it inevitably became necessary to use the pot for _other_ bodily functions, and the fact he was going to have to take a crap in front of a bloody Fire Nation prince. He didn't want to think about that looming humiliation at all. The only upside was that if he was feeling miserable at the prospect, Zuko seemed even more unhappy about it. He had been stiff legged and furious when he finally had to give into his body's needs - Sokka could honestly say he had never seen anyone take such an angry pee before. In other circumstances it would have been hilarious. As Zuko had been living on a ship with his men, Sokka assumed his discomfort came from being vulnerable in front of an enemy, which he could relate to.

He didn't _like_ being able to relate to anything with an ashmaker, especially not this one.

But the only other thing that they had in common was how much they hated Zhao, even the mention of his name would make Zuko’s face contort with fury. Although watching him seethe was pretty much the only entertainment Sokka had, he couldn’t help but worry about what would happen when Zhao eventually came to see them – he didn't seem like the kind of guy to resist a little taunting of his prisoners, perhaps he was just biding his time? But why?

So when the door swung open, and old Captain Mutton Chops himself walked in, Sokka was already tense with anticipation. He hated everything about the man, and just seeing him sent memories of the slaughter on deck flash before his eyes. When he blinked them away, another wave of anxiety and fear would sweep over him. He found it helped if he focused on other things, the small details, letting the little specifics drown out the images that threatened to make him curl up in a ball of terror. Zhao looked like he’d had his ugly uniform specially pressed for the occasion and his stupid shoulder pads looked extra wide and impractical. Even his sideburns looked like he’d had them freshly waxed. He looked like a caricature of a Fire Nation villain.

Sokka _hated_ him.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Zhao greeted them in his usual snide tones, not changing Sokka’s unflattering assessment of him at all.

Zuko had risen to his feet the second the man had stepped over the threshold and he strode right up to the bars. “Release me this instant!” he snapped.

Zhao gave him an unimpressed look. “Or what? You’ll yell at me?”

Sokka, being a man wise beyond his years, suffled backwards slightly to get out of the potential blast range. Almost on cue, Zuko snarled and attempted to shoot fire between the bars – it was a short, hot looking burst, but it lacked… something. He was clearly weak from hunger and Zhao batted the fireball away like it was an irritating bug. “Now, now,” he said, no longer hiding his smug smile.

Zuko’s face was red under the fading bruises. “You tried to have me killed!”

“You’re mistaken. I would never do such a despicable thing. Especially not to a man of the blood.”

“You paid those pirates, I know you did! I’m a _prince_ , trying to have me murdered is treason!”

Zhao looked at him, his smirk curling upwards in amusement. “Treason? You’re hardly one to talk about treason. We both know what you did, don’t we?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Zuko was _almost_ convincing, but not quite, and Sokka very much wanted to know exactly what this treasonous misunderstanding was, because as far as he could see, Zuko was completely loyal to his insane, murderous father.

“Really,” Zhao said flatly, “You’re saying that when I captured the Avatar, the greatest threat to our nation for a hundred years, you didn't set him free?”

Sokka couldn't help himself, he snorted and they both turned to look at him. “ _Zuko_? He chased the Avatar from pole to pole like some sort of demented polar bear dog. Why would he let him go if he had him?” he asked. It was a ridiculous notion.

“That would be a good question, Water Tribe.” The look Zhao turned on the prince was unpleasant. “Except he didn’t have him, _I_ did.”

“Oh,” Sokka said. Because, _oh_ , that did change the game somewhat. If Zuko had done what Zhao was implying, it was a very significant act of treason that could ultimately (and hopefully) lose the Fire Nation the war, committing it would have been complete madness. And yet, Sokka had a very strong suspicion that Zhao was on the money with his accusation. Some of the things Aang had said about being captured when they had been sick, and some of the things he had very pointedly _not_ said about his mysterious rescuer, were adding up in a way that didn’t look good for his prison mate.

“It wasn’t me!” Zuko yelled at an impressive volume. But what did it even matter? Even in the unlikely event he was completely innocent, if Zhao convinced the Fire Lord of his guilt, convinced him that that he had freed the Avatar because of his own ambition and lost him again, then being of royal blood was not going to save him. The Fire Lord didn’t seem like the kind of man to let something like that slide.

And Zhao knew it. “No?” he almost purred, leaning forward slightly and looking down at the prince. He was clearly relishing this a great deal. It was different to the way Ro had enjoyed taunting Zuko, that had been personal, yeah, but with more spite and less…anticipation. There was something profoundly disturbing about the expression on Zhao’s face.

Naturally, Zuko seemed either oblivious or too angry to notice or care. “There’s no proof,” he said firmly. “Your ridiculous suspicion is worth nothing, Zhao.”

Zhao chuckled,“Zuko.” The lack of the honorific was pointed and Zuko’s eyes widened in indignation. “Zuko, I was there when your father banished you for cowardice. I was there when he taught you your…lesson in respect.” His smile made it clear the pleasure he had taken in those things. “But it is clear you have learned nothing in your exile.”

Zuko made an incoherent noise of rage and attempted another blast of fire, but once again Zhao was barely fazed.

In his corner, toes digging into the grubby metal floor in an effort not to cower in the face of the smell and heat of the flame, Sokka was confused. Cowardice? _Zuko_? The man was unstoppable, he threw himself off boats, cliffs and into fights like he didn't give a (literal) flying fuck. There were many words that Sokka would have used to describe him: stubborn, stupid, tenacious to the point of idiocy, and often balls to the wall insane, but coward was not even close to being on the list.

Also banished. That was news. That actually explained a lot of things, and also invited many, many questions.

Zhao brushed a little soot off his uniform from the fire blast. “As I was saying, it’s clear you have learned nothing your father tried to teach you. You put yourself above your nation, above your family, even above the Fire Lord. To say he won’t be pleased would be an understatement.”

Zuko’s pale skin had turned ash white. “There’s no proof I did anything!” he shouted, but he sounded desperate and was practically radiating ‘I did it! I’m guilty!’ It was embarrassing to watch.

Zhao walked to the table and drew out the chair, seating himself like he was attending a dinner instead of taunting a captive and probably soon to be executed prisoner.

“I reported your incursion into Fire Nation waters to your father, you know. That would have been enough to have you arrested on sight. But you weren't.” Zhao shook his head in mock sadness. “Your father gave you a chance to redeem yourself, and what did you do?”

Zuko blanched and turned away. It was, in Sokka’s opinion, the biggest admission of guilt he could have given without words.

“You committed high treason,” Zhao continued relentlessly. “I have informed your father of what happened at Pohuai stronghold, and your role in the mess at the North Pole. He will believe me. Despite the setbacks we have faced, your father respects my word, my _honour_.”

Sokka didn't like Zuko, but he hated Zhao, and watching this farce play out was making him squirm, so of course he had to go and open his big fat mouth. “Honour?” he said, suddenly furious, “You murdered prisoners of war! You wouldn't know honour if it poked you in the eye!”

Zhao turned his gaze towards him and smiled, a supercilious, smug expression, it made all the little hairs on the back of Sokka’s neck stand up. “I see you two have been bonding.” With his lips twitched up into that insufferable smirk, he rose to his feet and moved towards him. Sokka stood, meeting his eyes, and although his knees felt weak and embarrassingly trembly, his anger kept him standing tall.

“He’s right, Zhao.” Zuko said the man's name with the sort of distaste one might use when describing having shit stuck to your shoe. “What you did was against everything we stand for. Against regulation and decency.”

“Regulation. And what exactly was your behaviour at the North Pole? Acting against your own nation in defence of savages and traitors?”

Zuko tossed his head and glared; it was an impressive one, once of his best. Sokka rated it a solid 8.5. “Your plan was insane!” he snapped.

“Oh?” Zhao turned and stalked back toward Zuko, crossing the small space in only two strides. “Insane?”

“Yes! You can’t just kill the moon! The moon controls the tides, we’re an island nation! We need the tides!”

“We would have adapted.”

“Our people would have died in their _thousands_! My father wouldn't allow it, he will understand when I tell him what you were trying to do, it was _madness_.”

Sokka was fairly sure Zuko was actually talking sense for once. But he was still very much stuck on one point, “You tried to kill the _moon_?”

Zuko glanced at him, his good eye showing all the white around the yellow with the level of his outrage. “He did kill the moon,” he said. “But it came back.”

“You _murdered_ the moon? How do you even do that?” Sokka was aware his voice was reaching Zuko levels of loudness, but seriously? The moon? “ _How_?” As, in a wild twist of fate, Zuko appeared to be the least crazy person in the room, he directed his question to him, rather than Zhao.

Zuko drew himself up, still bristling with anger, as he turned to look at Sokka. “The moon was a fish at the time,” he said.

A what? “How was the moon a _fish_!” Sokka threw his arms into the air, but even that didn't really help to convey his feelings on the matter. What were they even talking about? A Fish? He realised his internal dialog just seemed to be yelling: _The moon? A fish?_ repeatedly, but this wasn't making any damn _sense_.

Equally impassioned, Zuko had also reached maximum volume. “I don’t know why the moon was a fish! But it was!”

“And he killed it? Why would you kill the moon, you’re an island nation!” Sokka yelled, this time directed the question to Zhao, who didn’t look happy with all the shouting and arm waving.

“Exactly!” Zuko declared, gesturing wildly with his bound hands. Then he seemed to realise he was agreeing with Sokka and glared at him.

Yeah well, Sokka didn't want to agree with him either.

“Are you two done?” Zhao asked, cooly.

Zuko tossed his head and somehow managed to look down his stupidly pointy little nose at Zhao, despite the considerable height difference. “Even a peasant thinks you’re a moron, _Admiral_. Even he understands how tides work, something that is clearly beyond you.”

_Rude_. “Thanks, Zuko,” Sokka said with all of the considerable sarcasm he could lace into the words.

Zuko sniffed at him, but didn’t take his eyes off Zhao. “My uncle will explain to father, even if I can’t, and the Fire Lord will listen to him.”

Zhao laughed, tipping his head back and further adding credence to Sokka’s deranged villain assessment. “Your Uncle? Iroh is a traitor, he won’t be able to explain anything, he’ll be arrested and executed.”

If Zuko looked angry before, he was practically incandescent with it now. “He’s not a traitor! My uncle is loyal to the Fire Nation and loyal to the throne!” He banged his bound wrists against the bars in frustration. “Even if people believe your lies, my father won’t, he would never allow his own brother to be executed, it won’t happen!”

Sokka was not so sure of that, but decided to keep his mouth shut, in case Zuko’s rage got so intense he wanted to blast something that couldn't just swat his fireballs away.

Zhao tutted, and shook his head. “Once again you prove incapable of understanding the complexities of politics. Let me lay it out for you in a way you can comprehend, I’ll try to use small words.” He ignored Zuko’s snarling, with another pleased smile. “Iroh may be a pale shadow of the man he once was, but as long as he lives, he will always have the potential to lay claim to the throne. He could raise a rebellion – not a successful one, but a civil war would be a disaster for the nation.”

“Uncle would never do that!”

“He’s a threat, he always has been,” Zhao continued, calmly. “But despite his many failings as a general, he has remained popular. It would have been foolish for your father to act against him without reason. But now he has openly committed an act of treason, witnessed not just by myself, but also other soldiers, your father can take the necessary action to remove him permanently.”

“He wouldn’t!”

“He will, I guarantee it.”

Zuko was breathing hard, glaring at the floor, with his arms still against the bars. He looked apocalyptically angry, but under that? He looked afraid. Sokka figured that even someone as dense as Zuko had to see the truth in Zhao’s words.

In Sokka’s opinion, Zhao was pretty damn sure that Zuko was going to be suffering the same fate as Iroh, otherwise he would never dare say such things to him. It looked like the Fire Lord was going to be doing some pruning of the family tree. He wondered if he had more kids, or if he was just planning to rule until he died and screw whatever came after. He certainly seemed narcissistic enough to go for that option.

“You’ll never catch him,” Zuko rasped, raising his head to look Zhao in the eye.

“He is a canny old man, I’ll give him that. But even the wiliest fox can be caught with the right bait.” Zhao smiled, wide and smug. “And I have just the thing.”

Zuko took a second for that to sink in, and then made an inarticulate roar of fury, he tried yet another weak attempt at firebending, and when that had as much effect as the last one, he spun on his heel, as graceful as a dancer, and grabbed his chamber pot, hurling the contents through the bars and all over Zhao, who had clearly still been expecting fire, not human waste to be Zuko’s weapon of choice.

Zhao stood there dripping, in shock, for a beat or two before he literally exploded in anger; flames engulfed his arms, running over his hands and up to his shoulders in ugly writhing orange heat, and he fired a powerful blast at the prince – it far outstripped Zuko’s earlier efforts and the heat and smell and feel of it drove Sokka to the furthest corner of his cage. He was momentarily overcome with fear and shut his eyes tight, he heard the prince shout, but he didn't open them again until the heat in the air had dulled, although the warmth lingered against his skin like a mocking caress.

When he finally forced himself to look back into the room, Zuko was surprisingly not burnt to a crisp, and although he had been driven to his knees and was shielding his face with his arms, he didn’t seem harmed. Perhaps he still had enough power to block or deflect the blast. The far wall did have some singeing, and Sokka was eternally grateful that the prince had sent the flame the other way, or that would have been the end of him.

Zhao was breathing hard, he looked _murderous_. “A few more days and I will have your fathers answer regarding your fate. And then you will _pay_ for that, Prince Zuko.”

Then with as much dignity as he could muster, given the circumstances, Zhao swept from the room like some sort of foul smelling apparition.

Sokka sat back down hard. He felt he may as well, they were clearly going to die after that little display. “You’re not very princely,” he told Zuko, while trying to gain some semblance of control over his breathing.

Zuko was still holding his empty chamber pot, but he settled back into a sitting position as well. “What would you know about princes?” he muttered.

“Not much, I admit, but I expected more...I don’t know, decorum?”

“I have decorum!”

“You just chucked a bucket of piss at a man, not that he didn’t deserve it.”

“Shut up.” He did look a little embarrassed, now the heat of his anger had dissipated.

Sokka sighed. He thought he sighed a lot traveling with Aang, but the Avatar had nothing on the levels of Zuko related exasperation. “Do you have any impulse control at all? Even a little bit? We’re going to suffer for that outburst, you get that right?”

Zuko grunted.

In spite of himself, Sokka felt a small grin tug at his lips. “Although I admit, I did enjoy seeing the bastard covered in piss. Best part of the week, bar none.”

Zuko glanced at him, a vicious little smile creeping over his own face. “I thought so.”

“I particularly liked the fact he had to walk through the ship stinking, even royal pee is still pee.”

Zuko’s smile grew, just a bit.

“Might even be worth it,” Sokka said.

It was not worth it.

Well, maybe a little. The look of horrified fury on Zhao's face lent him a small measure of strength while shivering hard enough to rattle his bones.

Some time after Zhao’s departure, Ro and the man who had murdered the Water Tribe prisoners entered the room, along with some red coated soldiers. Sokka had not been prepared for the wave of horror seeing that particular man again. For a moment, he could smell the nauseating tang of the blood on the deck mixed with the salt spray of the sea, he could feel the bitter wind on his face. The fear had consumed him completely, and he lost track of what was happening for some length of time, until he got a bucket of water to the face.

He may have squealed a little, it was _freezing_.

“Back with us, water rat?” Ro asked, sneering at him. He lobbed another bucket of water through the bars, hitting Sokka in the face again. “Seeing as you boys decided to soil the floor, we thought we’d give it a thorough clean.”

“Fuck you, Ro,” Zuko snarled. He was standing stubbornly in the middle of his cell, looking like a disgruntled, half drowned cat, with his stupid hair bedraggled and dripping. If Sokka wasn't so cold it might have been funny.

“Watch that tongue, your Highness, or someone might cut it off.” Ro chucked another bucket of frigid sea water at him, but Zuko stood his ground and just glared and dripped.

“If you’re going to act like animals, then you’ll be treated like animals,” Ro told him.

Sokka checked the location of the other man, the murderer. He was still there, hanging back, his broad, plain face completely impassive. He didn’t look like a merciless killer. He looked like some guy who might be selling his wares in the market. He didn’t even glance at Sokka, unlike Ro who was clearly enjoying making him shriek when the cold water hit him. How could the man who had murdered his people in cold blood just look so _disinterested_? Sokka kept an eye on him, but he didn’t move from his spot unless instructed to pass another bucket to Ro.

Eventually even Ro grew bored with tormenting Zuko, leaving them alone to freeze to death instead. “This is all your fault,” Sokka said, unhappily.

Zuko grunted and wrung out his hair. He sat stiffly on the wet floor. Sokka ignored him for the moment, and stripped off his tunic to try and squeeze some of the water out, hopping up and down as he did so in an effort to warm up.

Zuko watched him with a befuddled expression on his face. Then he started to steam. The bastard was _drying_ himself. “You!” Sokka managed to get out through his chattering teeth. “Unfair!”

Zuko rolled his eyes and moved himself closer to the bars separating them. “Sit here,” he said, pointing to the spot in front of him.

“Why?”

“I’ll warm the air. Payment for the food.”

Sokka did not have to be asked twice and he pushed himself as close to the bars as he could. His pants squelched when he sat, _horrible_. It was warmer though, the heat coming off Zuko was glorious. “Good trick. I love it,” Sokka told him.

Zuko held out a hand. “Give me that.” He waved imperiously at the tunic Sokka was still clutching.

Sokka handed it over. He realised belatedly he probably should have expected some sneaky Fire Nation trick, but it honestly hadn't occurred to him that Zuko might have evil intentions for his shirt. And he was proved correct when the prince just held it in his hands, concentrating intently on carefully drying it. Huh. Maybe the exchange of food and the hatred of a mutual enemy would keep the peace between them a little. It couldn’t hurt. Although he did suspect it might be short lived, seeing as Zhao was probably planning an execution party at this very moment.

“Here,” Zuko said, and passed over the dry, and blessedly warm tunic, which Sokka stuffed over his head the second he had it in his hands. He got up and stripped off his sodden pants and underwear, shoving them through the bars expectantly.

Zuko looked appalled. “I’m not drying that!”

“Why? I can’t sit in wet pants! And it’s not like it hasn’t been washed! I mean, I don’t know about you, but I thought that was a pretty thorough soaking!”

“Urgh!” Zuko did take the pants, but left the loin cloth. “You can hang up the under garments, I’m not drying them!” he said firmly.

Sokka considered arguing, but he didn’t really want to push his luck while he was still only half dressed, and conceded defeat. He draped his underwear on the bars of the door instead.

Sokka leant against the bars to enjoy the warmth and watched idly as Zuko took his half dry hair out of its ribbon to finger comb. “Do you think the Fire Lord will believe him?” he asked.

“About what?” Zuko tied his hair back up. It was still a little wonky, but Sokka opted not to tell him, for the sake of his own amusement.

“About the whole moon thing, will he side with Zhao?”

“No! He’ll see it for the madness it was. He has to.”

Sokka shrugged. “I hope you’re right. I mean, I don’t like you, but I would rather have you in charge than someone like Zhao. At least you understand murder is bad, and that the moon affects the tides.”

Zuko looked surprised. “If I took you captive, I would treat you properly,” he offered.

“Aww thanks, would you let me go?”

“No, I would use you to capture the Avatar.”

Sokka barked a laugh. “Well, points for honesty I guess. Sucks for us we’re at Mutton Chops’ leisure instead.”

“He’s a disgrace!”

“Yeah, but that’s not much different from all the other disgraces you have running your army.”

“No, that's not true, most of them are decent - it’s people like Zhao who are ruining our reputation, he’s the problem. When he’s removed from his position, things will get better.”

Sokka couldn't stand it, this wilful ignorance. “Really?” he asked tightly, “it wasn't Zhao that broke into my house and murdered my mother.”

Zuko looked shocked, and strangely, a little upset. “Your mother died in the war?”

“No, that would imply she was fighting, she wasn't. She was in the South Pole looking after her children when the Fire Nation raided us. She was unarmed, in her own home when she died. You going to tell me that was Zhao? Or was that just another bad one?” He shook his head angrily. “You’re full of shit, you know that?”

Zuko looked away, face pinched. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I don’t want your sorry, it means _nothing_.”

For once Zuko seemed to take the hint and lapsed into a pensive silence, while Sokka tried to control his feelings. He really didn't want to think about his mother, while he was in a place like this, but on the other hand, he wished he could remember her face, her touch. Right now, he wasn't sure he could even remember his dad’s face, or Katara’s, everything just seemed like metal walls and misery.

He closed his eyes.

No, he could remember: He could remember the smell of Katara’s dark hair, the comfort of it soft against his face when they shared a bed after their mother was gone. He could remember the tilt of her evil smile when she dumped snow on his head after he had abducted her carved figure of a snow goose. The compassion in her gaze when Bato’s polar dog had lost her pups one bitter winter and it had nearly broken Sokka’s heart.

She was still out there, and she was with Aang, giving him her strength. That thought would give _Sokka_ strength, until he saw her again. And he _would_ see her again. Spirits, he missed her like he would miss a limb, more. They had never been apart like this, not since she was born, a tiny, furious ball of screaming humanity. He didn’t think he could ever love anything more, or miss it harder.

…………………..

Taiju was finding watching the prisoners surprisingly interesting, neither of them had any respect for the Admirals authority, but seemed to be building some for one another, despite their differences – at least to the point of giving aid where it was needed. It was strange to see enemies sharing food and assisting each other, unexpected.

“I am sorry about your mother, even if it doesn't make a difference,” the prince said into the heavy silence that had fallen over the cell. He was sitting straight backed and cross legged, facing the bars whilst drying the red Fire Nation pants the Water Tribe kid had been wearing.

The other boy was leaning against the metal like he was trying to absorb as much warm air as he could, but Taiju could still see him shivering despite the distance. He had attempted to tuck as much of his bare legs as he could inside his tunic, making him look ridiculous and awkward. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, his voice full of old pain.

War was war, and Taiju refused to feel sorry for him, even though he looked so small and sad, tucked inside his long shirt like a hermit crab trying to fit in an undersized shell. He probably wasn’t much older than Taiju’s own children. It was an unsettling thought.

“Okay,” The prince said, and handed back the pants through the bars. The Water Tribe boy perked up, snatching them quickly and shimming into them without even bothering to stand.

“Ah Pants! Warmth! Thank you, your fiery Highness,” he said, voice light, like all the pain and weight of their previous conversation had dissipated into the air like ash on a breeze.

The Prince grunted something that might have been an acknowledgement.

“Soooo,” The Water Tribe boy said, drawing out the word, and shooting a curious glance at his cellmate. “You freed the Avatar from Pohuai stronghold?”

“No!”

Blue eyes rolled. “But Zhao thinks you did for some _mysterious_ reason.”

“He’s wrong,” the prince snapped, “why would I do that?”

“Oh yes, why would the loyalest most loyal of banished princes do such a thing?” The kid gave a loud snort. “Nothing at all to do with the banishment thing? You never once mentioned that while yelling about the glory of the Fire Nation and honour and stuff.”

“It was a mistake!”

Another inelegant snort. “The Fire Lord banished you by accident? There seems to be a lot of that going around when it comes to you and committing a bit of treason, more than the average I would guess.”

Smoke gushed out of the prince’s nose in his aggravation, but the Water Tribe boy didn’t even flinch. “No,” the prince said, “that’s not what I meant. The Fire Lord was right to banish me, _I_ made a mistake. But I was trying to make it right.”

“I see,” the boy said, although he clearly didn’t. “And now Zhao ‘thinks,’” He made obnoxious finger quotes. “He thinks you committed a rather significant act of treason in freeing the Avatar from your own nation.”

“He’s wrong.”

“Yeah, not sold on that, but let’s say he _is_ wrong – why would he even think it in the first place? Other than the fact that he doesn't like you – something I can understand, because I really don’t like you, either.”

The prince glowered at his companion. “Yeah, well I don’t like you!” he said. He sounded exactly like Taiju’s daughter when arguing with her brother – indignant, angry, with a little bit of hurt confusion. He turned his face away, hiding the scarred side from the other boy's view.

“He thinks I did it because of a coincidence!” He burst out eventually, making Taiju start with the force of his words.

“Go on,” The water tribe boy drawled.

“The Blue Spirit has swords.”

“The Blue Spirit with the wanted poster? The one who freed Aang from Pohuai stronghold? _That_ Blue Spirit?”

“Yes. And I have antique swords, but they’re just decoration. I like looking at them, because they’re antiques! I don’t use them at all.”

“I see.”

Apparently aware he had failed to make his case, the prince went in for another attempt. “Zhao made an assumption. A wrong assumption! Because of the antique swords that I own. Used to own. They got blown up.”

“Blown up?” The boy removed one of his hands from his armpit where he had been attempting to warm it, and held it up. “No, I don’t want to know,” he shook his head, a little smile curling his lip. “I’m sorry, but you’re just not convincing. I know you’re a prince and all, and your word is law, blah blah blah, but you do realise you blink like you have soot in your eye every time you lie, right?”

“I do not!”

Taiju could testify that he in fact, did.

“You do, and it’s worse than that. First you do the blinking, like this.” The Water Tribe boy made a face and did a fairly accurate impression. “Then your eyes start wandering like you’re actually looking for the lie to pull out the air, and when you find it, you somehow get lost in your own sentence when you try to get it out your mouth.”

The prince made an angry, garbled noise, but the other boy plowed on regardless. “I’m just saying, a good liar, you are not. I don’t think you were cut out for politics.”

“Shut up! I do not do that!”

“I’m not having a go! It’s weirdly endearing, you look kind of like a polar dog that’s been bonked on the head one too many times.”

The prince reared back and kicked a bare foot through the bars, hitting the Water Tribe boy in the side.

“Ow! See this is why no one likes you! You’re a shit liar and you have the temper of a rabid skunk-weasel!”

Another blow, this one landing on the boys shoulder narrowly missing his jaw. It hit hard through, Taiju could hear the impact.

“And you kick like a mule!” The Water Tribe boy yelled, “Stop it!”

Taiju wondered why the kid just didn’t move out of the way, even as he attempted to bat the prince’s heel out of his face. He watched while they yelled and snarled and squabbled. Both stayed stubbornly where they were, only an arms reach away from each other, and Taiju was forced to conclude that despite the spat, the prince was still keeping the air warm. It was a confusingly stupid thing to do, a waste of precious energy.

But perhaps when you had no allies, you just took what you could get.

He didn’t understand it though.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Rude? To you? Surely not, what with you being such a polite individual."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta burkesl17, who has managed to wrangle my dyslexic nonsense. All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> And thank you for all the lovely comments and Kudos!

By Sokka’s estimate, it was only two days before Zhao got the news he was waiting for.

Sokka had spent most of the time alternately freaking out about his current situation and daydreaming about killing the man who had murdered the Water Tribe prisoners. He had learned from Zuko that the guy's name was Chen, and as far as Sokka was concerned he had earned his place on the end of Sokka’s (currently imaginary) sword. Zuko had offered what information he knew about the man; he had been a follower of Zhao's for much of his career, and was loyal to a fault. The prince heaped scorn on his lack of critical thinking and blind allegiance. Sokka found that Zuko holding such an opinion was more than a little hypocritical, but he had tactfully not mentioned it, as with the prince's probable looming execution, it felt a little too much like kicking a puppy.

But whatever, Chen was going down. Eventually.

When he wasn't thinking about murder, Sokka was speculating wildly about the new information he had discovered about Zuko. The prince had refused to answer any questions regarding his banishment, and sulked or yelled whenever Sokka brought it up, but that didn't stop Sokka thinking up more and more wild possibilities.

What had he done that was so bad that a tyrant would kick him out? He seemed steadfastly loyal to his nation and his despot father, so not treason, or at least not purposeful treason. He seemed to commit ‘accidental’ treason on the regular, so perhaps there had been another one of those _misunderstandings_?

Just the thought of it made Sokka’s eyes roll.

But he couldn’t let it go, he had too many questions. How recently had it happened? He’d said he had been at sea for three years, so how old had he been? Sokka thought Zuko was only a few years older than he was, but surely he couldn't have been younger than fifteen or sixteen when he was banished?

It was clear that Zuko believed capturing the Avatar was his way to wiggle back into his dad's good graces, but if he had done something terrible, would that have even helped? Of course, the other option was he had done something petty, and his dad had seen the opportunity to offload an unwanted extra child. Sokka wasn’t sure how many kids the Fire Lord had, but if Zuko was a superfluous one, exile was a way of getting him out of the way without obviously murdering him.

Now that he thought about it, that made the most sense – treason was the sort of thing that people accepted might end in execution, so if he had done something terrible then his dad could just have had him killed. But if he just wanted to get rid of him? Banishment was less likely to cause a political scene. People tended to get a bit upset about undeserved filicide.

Of course, maybe Zuko had committed a terrible crime and banishment was his dad's way of saving him, rather than having to have him killed or imprisoned. But nah, Sokka couldn't see it, the Fire Lord was just too much of an evil bastard to be doing people favours, even his own offspring.

Either way, It was a mystery and helped while away the long, stagnant hours.

He was resisting just asking again despite the desire to _know_. Zuko was…highly strung, and Sokka wasn’t sure he wanted yet another shouting match this...early? Late? In the day. He hated not knowing if it was even day or night, it was so disorientating, and once he started thinking about it, it just became more and more infuriating.

There was one sure way to take his mind off his troubles, and that was to pick on his cellmate, just gently, so as not to elicit the full on yelling.

“Oi, Zuko.” Sokka just loved the angry, scrunchy faced, pursed lipped pout he got when he left off the ‘Prince’ or called for Zuko using, ‘hey’ or ‘oi’. He could now tell the difference between enraged scowl, offended scowl and miffed pout that looked like a scowl because of the scar tissue. There really wasn’t much else to do in this jail boat except stare at Zuko, so he may as well make it interesting and catalogue his facial expressions, especially as they were pretty hilarious.

“What?” Zuko said, giving him more scrunchy face irritation. _Amazing_.

“Why does Mutton Chops have it in for you so much? Apart from the time you definitely did not steal the Avatar out from under his nose. Because, got to say, he didn’t seem to like you the last time I saw the two of you together either. Tied you to a pillar and called you a traitor, if I recall.”

Zuko let out a heavy, aggravated sigh, like the drama llama (ha!) he was. “He’s never liked me. I don’t know why.”

“Oh come on, there must be something.”

Zuko shrugged, but he had a slightly shifty look on his face, so there was clearly a story there somewhere.

“Indulge me,” Sokka wheedled. “If you pissed him off, I want to hear about it – especially if it was embarrassing for him in any way whatsoever, even a little bit will give me joy.”

Another long sigh. “The first time I met him, some wine got spilled on him, just before an important meeting he was attending.”

Sokka scoffed. “Got spilled on him? Just like that? It didn’t have help? Was it via the lost art of wine-bending?”

“No, it wasn’t even me! It was Az.. it was my sister. But I got the blame.”

Well that answered one question - there were other children, one sister at least. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Not really. He wasn’t anyone of note then, just a Captain, but he may have taken the perceived insult a little personally.”

“So he’s still bitter that a…how old were you?”

“Ten.”

“Wow, I can’t actually imagine you as a child. Weird. So he’s still mad about something you did when you were ten? That’s pathetic, even for him.”

Zuko did some guilty shifting, and his lower lip stuck out a little, in his ‘I’m lying by omission pout.’ Spirits above and below, this boy was not meant for politics.

“When he snapped at me, I might have referred to him as being low born. I think he may have resented the truth in that. Possibly because it was in front of a general he was trying to impress.”

That of course was the _other_ reason he was clearly not cut out for a career in the political sphere. “That sounds like something that might get under his skin. Also tracks for my growing image of ten year old you.”

Zuko made an angry gesture with his bound wrists, winching a little as he did so. “I didn’t like him!”

“ _Nobody_ likes him, he’s insufferable,” Sokka placated, making soothing motions. “But what was it you disliked so much? As you said you didn’t get in trouble for the wine-bending incident. And he could hardly say anything to the crown prince,” Sokka probed. After the sister revelation, he was keen to find out what other little nuggets of information Zuko might drop.

“I wasn’t the crown prince then.”

And pay dirt! Wasn’t the crown prince _then_ , meaning he was now? That made all of Sokka’s theories much more complicated. You didn’t just banish your heir, did you? Not unless there was a preferred child, a younger son perhaps? That was a possibility, or, oh, what if he had offed his older sibling and taken his place, but the fire lord couldn't prove it and banished him? Spirits, the possibilities were endless. “Who was crown prince back then?” he asked, as casually as he could.

“My cousin.”

How did that come about? He had suspected the Fire Nation royal family was some sort of hotbed of political murder, and this just confirmed it. What happened to the cousin?

Zuko, clearly unaware he was being pumped for information, was still wrestling with explaining why he didn't like Zhao. In Sokka’s opinion, being in the same room with him for more than a minute was probably enough to cement a lifelong dislike, but the same could probably be said for Zuko, so it wasn’t a surprise he was having trouble verbalising it.

“I didn’t like the way he looked at my sister,” Zuko blurted, after a visible struggle.

And that took a turn. “Oh, gross. How old was she?”

Zuko’s eyes widened, “No, not like that, it wasn’t _that_ kind of look, or not exactly. It was something else, something...” he gestured with a sharp movement that was again cut short by the restraints around his wrists. He glared at them.

“Something?” Sokka prompted, when Zuko seemed more intent on trying to glower his manacles out of existence than finishing his sentence.

“Something calculating.” He shrugged. “Like, the way he looked at the generals he wanted to butter up. I don’t know, maybe I was just putting too much into it. She was only eight.”

A younger sister. Interesting. If the cousin was crown prince, and then maybe Zuko next in line, a younger sister, still close to the throne, but not _too_ close, could be of use to an ambitious, highly decorated, military type, once she hit a marriageable age. He wasn’t sure if Zuko had clocked that, or had just been intuitively protective of his little sister. Something that Sokka could relate to – perhaps certain things were universal to older brothers, even in the Fire Nation.

“So that’s why he hates you? A mishap with some wine, and a well deserved insult from a ten year old?”

Shifty face. “Well, no, a few years later, after...um, after I left...”

“After you were banished.”

“ _Yes_. After that, I ran into him again, and he was rude to me.”

Sokka gasped dramatically. “Rude? To you? Surely not, what with you being such a _polite_ individual. What did you say to him? Come on, I want to hear it!”

“I told him he was a bottom feeding boot licker looking to rise above his station.”

Sokka grinned. “Oh lovely!” he said delightedly. “Bet that went down well.”

“Like a turd in the grog.”

Sokka cackled. Most of the time Zuko spoke like a snooty prince, but sometimes he said things that were pure foul mouthed sailor, and it never failed to make Sokka laugh.

Zuko looked down his nose and continued like Sokka wasn’t still snickering. “Zhao’s ambitious, the military was always going to be his way to climb up the ladder, and he did it by stepping on others. His career has always been full of reports of…unpleasant incidents.”

Sokka wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, still grinning. “Can’t say I’m shocked. So, it was a war of words?”

“Mostly. Until he decided to try to steal the Avatar from me.”

“I thought you stole the Avatar from him?”

“He started it!”

That had Sokka giggling again, Zuko was _ridiculous_ , he had no idea why he had ever been intimidated by him. “Okay, So he tried to get in on the Avatar capturing game, and?”

“I challenged him, and then beat him in an Agni Kai.”

“A who the what?”

“Agni Kai. A fire duel.”

Sokka whistled. “You beat him in a duel?”

“No need to sound so surprised,” Zuko said, with some irritation.

“Surprised? Not really, you seem to be good at setting stuff on fire. I hope you gave the stupid hog-monkey a good singing.”

Zuko looked a little pensive. “I should have killed him. It would have been my right.”

If only. “I very much wish you had, why didn’t you?”

A shrug. “I already beat him, why would I kill him?”

Now it was Sokka’s turn to sigh, he really didn’t understand what went on in the prince's squirrelly little brain, he made no sense at all. “You are a baffling man, Prince Zuko,” he said.

Zuko squinted at him, like he was hunting for the mockery in Sokka words. He wasn’t mocking him, not really, he _was_ baffling.

He was still giving Zuko his most innocent, not mocking expression, which seemed to be making the prince scowl harder and harder, when the door swung open, to reveal lieutenant Ro in full armour and looking very pleased. Sokka’s heart sank. He looked more than pleased, he looked like a man who had just been given the gift of a lifetime. This was not going to be good.

“Your Highness,” he greeted Zuko, sweeping a short, mocking bow.

Clearly sensing the same danger Sokka did, Zuko rose to his feet in a motion that was somehow still graceful despite his bound hands. He stood straight and strong, his back a rigid line under his dirty white shirt.

“It’s time to pay the piper,” Ro said. “Told you it wouldn't be me.”

“What do you mean?” Zuko asked, sharply.

“News from the Fire Lord. Admiral Zhao is waiting for you on deck. Are you going to walk like a man, or do we have to drag you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can walk just fine.”

Sokka didn’t think that was what Ro meant, but Zuko was clearly still clinging to the idea his dad wouldn't just wash his hands of him. Delusion was strong in this one.

But then wasn't it just as strong in Sokka, who was still convinced that an opportunity to escape and get revenge would present itself?

One of the accompanying soldiers undid the lock on the door and Zuko stepped out, head held high. Two men took a firm grip on his arms but he ignored them and glared at Ro instead.

“Hold him steady,” Ro said as a third man undid one of the shackles. Sokka could see the released wrist was red raw from where the metal had been rubbing. No wonder he had been wincing every time he moved his arms. Zuko tensed at the manhandling, but didn't resist as his arms were pulled behind him and rebound.

Call Sokka a pessimist, but that didn't look like a good sign to him. He was however, surprised and a bit alarmed when his own cell was unlocked, and Ro paused in his gloating to usher him out. “You too, little rat,” he said. _Bastard_. Sokka was getting really tired of being called that.

It was probably going to be a mistake, but Sokka stepped clear of his cage without causing trouble. He wanted to see the sky, he wanted to feel the breeze on his skin, and see anything that wasn’t this cell.

He did regret that sentiment when they reached the deck, and very much wished they would take him back down to his prison. It looked like every soldier on the murder boat had turned out to see what Sokka was increasingly sure would be the long awaited execution party. All that armour gleaming in the moonlight. It reminded him of the last time he had been out here, the feel of blood sliding between his toes as he had been taken below decks. He swallowed bile and looked up, the waning moon was bright, he estimated it had been about a week since then. Just seven or eight days, it felt like a lifetime.

Zhao was standing in the centre of the deck, his sideburns practically quivering with anticipation. He smiled at Zuko, who was also squinting at the moon, probably making the same assessment Sokka had. “Hoping for the sun?” Zhao asked. “You won’t see it again, I’m afraid.”

It seemed like an odd thing to taunt him with, given all the possible options. It occurred to Sokka that maybe firebenders _relied_ on the sun as a source of power. If you took benders away from their element, they seemed to wilt - like the earth benders from Haru’s village. That could be another reason Zuko was not bending with any real strength when he lost his temper. It might also be that he just wasn't very strong compared to someone like Zhao, but the fact he beat him in a duel indicated otherwise. Of course even if he was the weakest bender alive, Zuko would probably still try to roast Zhao at every opportunity, so it was very likely he was...depleted somehow, and being kept away from his element was a pretty good explanation.

True to form, Zuko walked up to Zhao and looked him right in the eye.

Zhao smiled. “Kneel.”

“Never!” Zuko spat, tossing his head and looking down his nose in that imperious way he had.

Zhao nodded, and some of the soldiers stepped forward to take Zuko’s arms. He had been remarkably dignified to this point, which was a surprise, but the tension of the moment seemed to have been eroding his self control and he tried to shrug them off with angry movements of his shoulders.

“Unhand me!” he snarled, but it was directed at Zhao rather than his men.

“No. I don’t think I will, your Highness.”

Sokka felt a dizzying burst of fear, oh shit, Zuko really was going to be killed tonight. Although he had been expecting it, it hadn’t felt _real_. He was surprised to feel so conflicted. He didn't like Zuko, he was an enemy, and an arsehole. But he was also not as bad a person as Sokka had previously thought, at least not compared to the vast majority of the Fire Nation. He had… honour, or at least something resembling it. He didn’t seem to want to kill without reason, and he had shown something dangerously close to compassion when Sokka had spoken about what had happened to his family. More than that, he had kept his promise to leave Sokka’s village, and had not returned when Aang broke _his_ word. Sokka had a sudden vision of what might have happened if Zhao had been the first to discover the Avatar, and he shuddered. Spirits, they had been so, so lucky. He was going to smack Aang upside the head when he saw him again, on principle alone. And smack himself too, for flying away and not checking that the Fire Nation soldiers they had just humiliated had not gone back for _revenge_.

Of course, Zuko could have returned and murdered his village anyway. But Sokka’s instincts told him he hadn't. He _trusted_ that he hadn't. His reaction to Sokka’s brief words about his mother was enough to convince him of that. And wasn’t that a weird turn about? That didn’t mean Zuko wasn’t an arse, and he was still a colonizing ashmaker, but perhaps just not as bad as the rest. Typical that the Fire Nation would execute the not completely evil ones.

Sokka’s attention was drawn back to the scene in front of him, as Zuko let out an angry yell, the soldiers were trying to knock his legs out from under him and force him to his knees. He wasn't having it though, and was using their grip on his arms to support his body as he lashed out with some powerful kicks of his own. Sokka had been on the receiving end of those, and he smirked at the cries of pain when he struck home. That boy had some serious leg power.

He wasn't going to win, even though it did take a considerable effort to wrestle him into a kneeling position, eventually that’s where he ended up, breathing hard and glaring with the power of a thousand suns. A man gripped each shoulder, keeping him down. It reminded Sokka far too much of the killing of his people.

It was going to happen again.

He didn't want it to happen. He didn't want to witness it, which was clearly why he was here – forced once again to watch helplessly as someone was murdered in front of him. He found himself struggling against the men restraining him, tugging against the grip they had on his arms and jerking against their hold. Last time, he had been too afraid to move or protest, and he had spent the past week wishing he had done something, _anything_ , even though it was obvious he would not have been able to prevent the deaths.

“Stop it!” he called. The man holding him shook him roughly, and Ro turned to smile at him, his teeth a white slash in the moonlight.

Zuko twisted so he could see him, he looked surprised. That made an uncomfortable feeling rise in Sokka’s chest. He was the only person who gave a crap what happened to Zuko, a flaming Fire Nation prince. His world was upside down.

“No,” Zhao said, amused, with pleasure clear in his face. He unrolled a pale, thick scroll and held it in front of the prince. Sokka was too far away to see the seal, but from the way all the colour left Zuko’s face, he assumed it was his fathers.

“Recognise this?” Zhao asked. “It’s a Royal Decree from the Fire Lord. Shall I read it to you?”

Zuko shuddered slightly, and looked down. It was obvious he was now braced for the worst. What must it feel like to know your own father was going to have you killed?

“I’ll skip to the good parts,” Zhao said, “For the crime of breaking the terms of your banishment, you, Zuko, son of Ursa, are hereby stripped of your name and birthright, including all titles and land. You are declared nameless and nationless.” Zhao paused to bask in the effect of his little speech.

Zuko’s head was bowed and he was flinching as though the words were physically striking him. His good eye was wide and he looked like he was gasping for breath, whether in fear, despair or anger, Sokka couldn't tell.

Sokka…felt for him. He knew it was coming, anyone with half a brain knew what that letter would contain when it arrived, or at least the gist of it. Except Zuko apparently, but even he must have had an inkling, even beneath the huge mountain of denial he was attempting to live under. Sokka was pretty sure it wasn't even his looming death he was freaking out about – it was being stripped of his name, his birthright, his family, his nation. That was brutal, Sokka couldn't even imagine how he would feel if his identity was taken from him in such a way. Not that it would be, because his dad wasn't an evil tyrant, and he would never do anything so awful that his father would have to banish or execute him. People in the Water Tribes _were_ exiled, if the crime was serious enough, but it happened very rarely and only a handful of times in Sokka’s memory, only once from his village, that he recalled. It wasn't a thing done lightly either, a person would stand trial, they would have a chance to speak in their own defence.

This was not that. This was a man seeing an opportunity to quickly and quietly dispose of a problem, a problem that happened to be that man's own son.

Zhao seemed to be enjoying himself. He had a look on his face that was almost enraptured, it was a disturbing amount of enjoyment to be expressing over someone's misfortune.

There was complete silence on deck, aside from the sea still beating against the ship, a relentless dull crashing. Zhao's smug voice carried as a stark counterpoint as he continued, “Furthermore, for the crime of high treason against your lord and nation, we find you guilty. The sentence for this crime is death, with the execution to be carried out forthwith, without trial or ceremony.”

There was another deafening silence. The assembled soldiers seemed to be holding their breaths as one. “So,” Zhao said, drawing an ornate dagger from his belt, the engraved blade glinting pale in the moonlight. “Here we are.” He tipped Zuko’s chin up with the flat edge and smiled down at him. “Recognise the knife? It seems fitting, don’t you think?”

Zuko seemed to have gained enough control over his emotions to glare, straightening as much as he could in his awkward kneeling position. Never let it be said that he would just lay down and take Zhao’s grandiose bullshit. Sokka was sort of proud of him for that. He hoped he kept it up, Zhao didn’t deserve to see him cower.

“Do it then,” Zuko rasped.

Zhao rested the blade against Zuko’s unscarred cheekbone, pushing into the skin. He tilted his head to watch the thin trickle of blood that welled up. Zuko didn’t flinch and he kept his eyes resolutely forward as Zhao stepped behind him. He took hold of Zuko’s ponytail and wrenched his head back sharply, exposing the pale line of his throat.

Sokka felt sick, he didn't want to watch this again. Images of Mammak’s death, of the other warriors, kept swimming before him. The cool indifference of the watching soldiers, and the indignity, the reality of violent death. But he couldn't seem to shut his eyes. Perhaps he should watch, should bear witness, in case anyone cared to know how the prince died. Would his sister? His uncle would, surely. Sokka viciously hoped Iroh swore bloody vengeance and obliterated these bastards. But he suspected the old man would be too dead to do anything, assuming he had even survived whatever had happened at the north pole.

The knife glinted in Zhao’s hand as he slashed with it, a strong, unhesitating motion. Sokka flinched, but instead of the spill of blood he expected from slitting Zuko’s throat, Zhao drew the blade up in a sharp movement, severing the plume of hair in his hand and letting the prince's head jerk free.

_What_ _above and below_ _?_ Zhao held the ponytail in his hand like some sort of prize. “Something for your father, to show the job is done,” he said. Zuko looked too stunned to respond, he had clearly also expected the blow to have left him bleeding out his life on the deck.

Zhao stepped casually back to face Zuko, tail of hair still clutched in one hand. He made a vague gesture, and the men released Zuko’s arms, he sagged a bit, startled, but then raised his head in defiance and began to force himself to stand, the motion a little awkward with his legs visibly shaking. He was breathing hard and his eyes were still wide with lingering shock and fear, but he was nothing if not stubborn and he gained his feet.

From the expression on his face Sokka suspected he was about to attempt some sort of firebending, even with his hands bound behind his back. That would of course be suicide, but was a very Zuko response to humiliation.

Also apparently anticipating an ill advised explosion, Zhao shot out a hand and grabbed the prince around the throat, hard, pulling him forwards and lifting him almost onto his toes as he stared down at him. “Now, now, Zuko, where are your manners?” he asked, in a sweet tone.

Zuko glared and worked his jaw, although he couldn't seem to speak with his air flow so restricted. Without the hair giving him height, he looked smaller, his features delicate above Zhao's big hand. Sokka was tempted to mentally readjust his age down a few years. The change in his appearance made Sokka actually see _him_ , rather than the image of the enraged prince chasing Aang all over the Earth Kingdom. He realised he might actually be closer to Sokka’s age than adulthood. Which made no sense for the timeline he had constructed in his head and also made Zhao’s gloating even more pathetic.

Zhao lent in, smiling. He was dangerously close in Sokka’s opinion, Zuko seemed like the sort of guy that might resort to biting if there was no other option. “Your life is mine, Zuko, to do with what I will and to end when I choose,” he said.

Zuko was going red from the lack of air, but he screwed his face up and spat, not an easy thing to do with someone crushing your windpipe, and most of it went down his own chin, but enough hit home to make Zhao rear back, releasing his grip. Zuko just had enough time to suck in a gasp or two of air before Zhao’s backhand sent him sprawling to the deck.

Zhao wiped the spit off his face. “Take them below,” he said, voice cool. “Don’t be gentle.”

Ro didn't need to be told twice and he grabbed for Zuko, dragging him by his bound arms, and not giving him a chance to gain his feet. Sokka didn't see what happened next, as he was being bundled back down below decks by the men holding his arms, but the slew of very impressive curse words were telling of Zuko’s opinion of his treatment.

Back in the cage, he watched Ro and Chen half wrestle and half drag Zuko back to his cell. He was bleeding from the nose, and cussing up a storm, but otherwise didn’t seem too badly hurt. Sokka was still getting over the fact that Zuko wasn’t dead. He had really thought that was going to be it, and he was going to be returning the hold alone, for however long it took for Zhao to locate Aang and try to use him as bait. He was unbelievably relieved that wasn’t the case. He didn’t think he could have survived the past week with his sanity without Zuko’s annoying presence keeping him company.

He suspected what time Zuko still had to live would not be pleasant, there was a long list of things Zhao had to pay him back for, and he hadn’t been lying when he said Zuko’s life belonged to him. How much time _was_ there? Would he lie to the Fire Lord, send him the hair and declare the prince dead? Eventually he was going to have to do the deed, or risk being found out. It would have to be before they hit land at least.

Once the soldiers had left, Zuko sat awkwardly with his hands still bound behind him, his head bowed. He looked small and young and _crushed_.

“How old are you?” Sokka asked into the oppressive silence.

“What?” Zuko lifted his head to stare incredulously. His nose was still bleeding sluggishly.

“How old are you? I realised that I don’t know.”

“You’re asking me this _now_?”

Well, at least it had him showing some sort of emotion other than the despair that was lurking behind his yellow eyes. “Yeah, you rather we talk about what happened out there?”

“No,” Zuko croaked, eyes closing briefly and his mouth drawn tight.

“I’m fifteen, but only for another two months,” Sokka offered.

Zuko stared at his dirty knees. “Sixteen. I’m sixteen,” he said at last.

Spirits, his timeline _was_ off. “How old were you when you, er...left the Fire Nation?” No way to really ask that tactfully, given the circumstances.

Zuko wet his lips. “In two weeks, it will have been three years. Now leave me alone.” He lowered his head to his knees and hunched his shoulders, a clear dismissal.

Thirteen. Who banished a _thirteen_ year old? _Why_?

Sokka couldn’t comprehend it. It would have to be a problem for another day, as it was obvious Zuko wasn’t going to be answering any more questions at the moment. So Sokka rested his own forehead on his drawn up knees, giving Zuko the illusion of space in his confusion and grief.

_Enough_. He was done being passive, wallowing in fear. It was time to get thinking. He was the plan guy, so he needed to get planning - there must be a way off this damn murder boat, he just had to find it.

.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka sighed. “Zuko, is there anyone in the Fire Nation Army, or indeed the Fire Nation as a whole, that you haven't pissed off in your very short life?” he asked, exasperated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta burkesl17, who has managed to wrangle my dyslexic nonsense. All mistakes are my own.

Taiju went to eat his lunch in the mess. After the quiet of the watching cell, the familiar chatter and noise was soothing to his turbulent thoughts. Even so, he felt very alone with them, no one else seemed openly bothered by what had happened yesterday. The Fire Lord had sent orders for his traitor son's execution – and it still hadn't taken place. Didn't that sit wrong with people? Taiju himself was in two minds about the whole thing. He still felt that taking the life of one of Sozin’s line should not be left to the common soldiers, only the royal line should be allowed to shed its own blood. Allowing others to do so seemed disrespectful. A sentiment that had been proved right as Zhao hadn't even struck the blow. The Admiral was clearly planning to play some of his twisted mind games, or worse. The man had a nasty reputation for a reason, and that knowledge sat heavy in Taiju’s gut.

He understood that the whole situation was shameful and the fact the Fire Lord’s own son was a traitor was a dreadful thing that needed to be swiftly dealt with before it could spread rumour and discontent. Even so, it was a terrible pity there was no other option as the Prince…who was not a prince any more…as _Zuko_ was still so young. But Taiju supposed it was war and in war difficult things had to be done for the greater good.

Taiju was uncomfortably aware he had been repeating that to himself an awful lot recently, every time he thought of the boys in the hold. Just this morning, he had watched them when they were brought their food and water, Zuko was still bound with his hands behind him, so the Water Tribe kid, a sworn enemy of their people, had offered to help him drink, holding his own cup through the bars as they had been unable to reach each other. Zuko had balked at first, but with a bit of coaxing, that had admittedly mostly been taunting, he had allowed the other boy to tip some water into his mouth. He had refused food, but it was only a matter of time, Taiju was sure he would take it eventually, even he wasn’t stubborn enough to just starve. Although, on second thoughts perhaps he was. The boy seemed obstinate enough to die out of spite.

Taiju sighed as he took a place on one of the long benches. He hated this, he hated having doubt, but he couldn’t help it. Why was it that these two enemy children could offer aid and comfort to one another, and yet his own people were laughing over the prospect of the torture they were going to have to endue? Ro was suggesting sending Chief Hakoda a few of his sons' _fingers_. The boy was only fifteen! Not old enough to even join the army. It just didn't sit right. He was starting to see his own son's face when he looked at the kid. They were the same age, it wasn't going to be long before Tu and his sister signed up to begin training for the army, and then just a few short years until he went to the front. Taiju already feared for him, and he was selfishly grateful that Hua would not be joining her brother in the colonies, instead staying to guard the homeland. The Earth Kingdom was cruel and brutal with their prisoners, they did unspeakable things. was one reason why fighting them was so important, why ending this war was so important. Preferably before either of his children had to witness the horrors of combat.

Taiju had just hoped his own people would be _better_ than the Earth Kingdom scum.

It was this ship, this crew. When something nasty festered at the top, it always filtered down. He wished he could leave, get a commission elsewhere. But it wasn’t an option, he was here for a reason and he would stay and fulfil his duty, despite how unsavoury it was.

“Hey, Taiju!”

Taiju started as Ota sat next to him with a thump and clatter as his plate hit the table. The man’s wide face was split in an affectionate grin. “How’s the heady heights of second lieutenant suiting you?” He laughed, not allowing Taiju to answer. “Prisoner watching must be getting tedious, no?”

Taiju shrugged noncommittally. “It has its moments.”

“I heard his ex-royal highness had a real tantrum this morning and they had to send a heavy hitter down to keep him quiet.”

“Don’t believe all the rumours you hear. It was just a fight between the prisoners.” Taiju took a bite of his stew, chewing slowly.

Ota laughed. “Oh yeah? About what?”

“Teapots.”

“ _Teapots_?” Ota asked, incredulously.

Taiju sighed, he was still a little incredulous himself. “Yeah, apparently there are some differences in what makes the best shape and heft of a teapot in the Water Tribes. Zuko disagreed.” _Loudly_.

Taiju was now familiar with the Water Tribe kid…Sokka’s methods of provoking Zuko out of his silent brooding, either for entertainment or as a form of distraction from both their considerable problems. This morning's fight had begun after the water sharing, and seemed to have been engineered to make Zuko feel less helpless, as Taiju was fairly sure Sokka didn't give a crap about the best shape for a teapot. But Zuko seemed to have taken the slight against Fire Nation tea sets very personally, and had expressed this at some considerable volume.

Ota snorted. “I hear the Water Tribe prisoner is the son of Chief Hakoda, that’s a bit of luck for the higher ups! The chatter is the Admiral has discovered the last sighting of the fleet and he’s going to send a message to Hakoda. Any idea if he’s planning to capture him, or negotiate?”

“Not my business to know that.” Taiju took another bite of his food, but it didn't go down as well as the first. The kid didn't deserve what was coming, he was an enemy, but he was a _child_.

Of course, technically, so was Zuko. At sixteen he would still need parental consent to marry, and was still two years from an age when he should be in actual combat. It was infuriating that his decisions had led him down this path; his mother would have been so disappointed. The thought made Taiju angry, the Lady Ursa had been an incredible woman, a _good_ woman. To see her son throwing his life away through stupidity and ambition was a travesty, and the boy should be ashamed of himself. He didn’t seem to be though, yesterday, even after his sentence had been read he had been defiant to the last.

In many ways Taiju was glad Ursa hadn’t lived to see it. No one knew what had happened to the Fire Lady, but the rumour said she had been killed by Earth Kingdom assassins, although no one talked about it, apart from maybe in the dark of a dockside tavern after one drink to many, and then only in whispers. The same whispers hinted that perhaps Azulon’s death, something that happened on the day of Ursa’s disappearance, was just as unnatural and murderous. To have members of the royal family killed under their own roof was unthinkable, it made sense they would want to keep it quiet.

Thinking about the Fire Lady dying under such circumstances made Taiju’s chest boil with rage, and his heart hurt, she had done so much for his family.

Perhaps because of that, there was a part of him that balked at the idea of harm coming to her son, despite his crimes. Maybe if she had lived, things might have been different. Zuko had been so young when he had been exiled. The circumstances of the banishment were not common knowledge, and it was not Taiju’s place to ask, but he had wondered, over the past few years. Why had he been cast out at such an age? What had he done that his own father would take such action against him? He remembered his grandma telling him once, after a particularly unpleasant execution in the town square, ‘ _Some people are just born bad_.’ It wasn't something he wanted to believe, how could a baby be bad? He had held his own twins in his arms as they squalled like angry kittens and never believed they could ever do anything but be wonderful. He had still thought that when Tu set fire to the rug and nearly burnt the house to the ground, and when Hua had punched the son of General Tsing in the nose and nearly caused Taiju to lose his job. Kids were stupid, they did stupid things, but they weren’t evil.

But then, he had seen evil. He had witnessed the same General Tsing burn a farmer for protesting his flock being commandeered by the army. He had seen what was left of prisoners taken by the Earth Kingdom. It was possible in all nations, and all people. Why was it so hard to believe that it could manifest in Ursa’s son?

“Do you think...” Taiju was unsure how to phrase his question without sounding disloyal, or challenging the Admirals authority. “Do you think the execution should have taken place yesterday?”

Ota looked around casually, checking for listening ears before answering. “I don’t suppose it really matters,” he said at last. “As long as he dies before we make port, there’s no reason to rush. He might have information on the Avatar, seeing as he was chasing him for so long.”

“That’s true,” Taiju said. And it was, but he didn’t think that was the reason Zuko was still breathing. From the look on Ota’s face, neither did he. Zhao didn’t like to be made a fool of, and Zuko seemed to have made a career out of doing just that over the past few months. Even in the week since he had been taken prisoner, he had stabbed the Admiral, thrown piss on him and publicly spat in his face. Zhao wasn’t going to let that stand without retribution.

“Did you hear the rumour about the cook?” Ota asked, raising an eyebrow, and launching into a sordid tale about the possibility of the man having two wives on the go at once. Taiju let the story wash over him, nodding where appropriate. He had to finish up and go back to the watching cell.

He didn’t want to.

He didn’t want the questions, or the doubt.

………..

Sokka was bored and he was fed up with bouncing between tedium and abject terror. Zhao was clearly leaving them here to stew like a couple of sea prunes and then, when they had driven themselves insane, he would strike.

In between needling Zuko and worrying, he was still desperately trying to come up with some way to escape. They had nothing to break or pick the lock with, so they would have to be released for some reason and then attempt to over power the guards.

There were two main issues with this. One, no one seemed inclined to be letting them out any time soon. The only option he could see was when they finally came to kill Zuko, or when they located Aang and dangled Sokka as bait in an effort to capture him. And two, there was no way either of them were in any sort of state to defeat healthy, well fed guards, some of whom were probably benders.

Then came the other problem. Suppose luck for some reason decided to shine on them, and they got out of their cells and up on deck – what then? They were at sea and he didn’t know _where_. Yesterday had been so intense and frightening he hadn't even looked at the stars to see which direction they were traveling.

They needed a map, or information on their heading, and they needed sight of the stars, _before_ they made their escape, which made it a lot more complicated.

He reluctantly had to conclude that until he had more information or an opportunity presented itself, they were stuck. But he was also sure something _would_ happen to tip the odds in their favour, it had to, they just had to be ready for it.

Zuko was not being very entertaining either. He was clearly going through some internal drama, and still seemed to be understandably shocked and miserable. Sokka had already coxed the idiot out of his sulk once today, but it hadn’t stuck and he was back to being morose.

That was _very_ dull.

Normally he would tease him about something stupid and see how many different snarls and growls and pouts he could get. The stupid hair had been a good target, but it just seemed mean now, even though his fuzzy scalp was kind of funny, especially as there was a slightly longer triangular tuft that had formed the base of his pony tail - _phoenix plume_ \- Zuko had been very indignant at having his dumb mop of hair incorrectly labelled. Moron. But, even with that sort of temptation, Sokka felt the cutting of the hair had some sort of important significance other than just Zhao being a dick, and seemed to be a part of severing his identity along with being handed his sentence, so Sokka held his tongue, with some reluctance.

He sighed long and heavy. Since no plans seemed to be manifesting, and Zuko was just glaring at the wall, perhaps some further efforts to distract them both from the situation were in order. Options were limited, and Sokka didn't really feel up to another shouting match. Perhaps a game?

“Do you know how to play I Spy?” he asked.

Zuko lifted his head to stare blankly at him. “What?”

“I Spy, it’s a game.”

“Yes, I know what it is, _why_?” Zuko grumped. He was still a little hoarse from the earlier yelling, and really didn’t really sound like an ex-future Fire Lord, just a surly teenager. In the rare moments when he wasn’t shouting, Zuko had a pleasant voice; low and raspy with the slight hint of a lisp. That was probably one more thing on the ever growing list of reasons his dad didn’t seem to like him much. Sokka figured someone as awful as the Fire Lord would probably have a thing about correct and evil annunciation. He bet he had an evil laugh too. Monumentality distracted, Sokka tried to remember if he had ever heard Zuko outright laugh, he didn't think so. Would it be maniacal, like his fathers probably was? Or would it be something warmer? Or maybe it was embarrassing, maybe he snort-laughed like Katara did when she was really losing it.

“Why, Water Tribe?” Zuko broke into his thoughts. “Finish the conversation or shut up!”

“Alright, keep your hair.. er...” _Bad Sokka_. “We should play it,” he corrected himself. “I Spy.”

“It’s a stupid children's game.”

Sokka sniffed haughtily and examined his dirty fingernails. _Yuk_. “Oh, of course you have better things to do, like sulk and brood and feel sorry for yourself. A very busy schedule.”

That just elicited an unhappy growl. Time to bring out the serious threats. “It’s either play I Spy, or I sing to entertain myself. Your choice.”

“I don’t care,” Zuko snapped.

Well, he asked for it.

It took less than five minutes of Sokka demonstrating his impressive and frankly _fantastic_ vocal range for Zuko to start yelling. That was not at all harmonious with Sokka’s song choice, so he opted for more volume to drown out the snarling.

“Okay, _fine_! How do you play the stupid game?” Zuko growled. He had held out far longer than Sokka had anticipated, impressive.

“I thought you knew how to play?”

“I do, but maybe Water Tribe rules are different,” Zuko said defensively. He was pouting, but at least he looked annoyed rather than crushed by despair, which was an improvement.

“What possible other rules can there be? Do you set each other on fire in the Fire Nation?”

Zuko made a face and Sokka shook his head in exasperation. “Seriously? I guess the clues in the name.”

“Usually it was just me being set on fire.”

“You were set on fire over a children’s game?” Even as he said it, Sokka felt his eyes slide towards the scar. He hadn’t really let himself wonder about it before – obviously it wasn’t the result of an overly competitive game of I Spy, but someone had made a pretty serious attempt to _actually_ set him on fire at some point. And while the impulse to incinerate him was somewhat understandable, due to his personality being similar to that of a rabid skunk-weasel, that wasn’t a recent injury, and if he was only sixteen…Well, if ever Sokka needed another reason to hate the Fire Nation, the fact they didn’t even seem to be above burning their _own_ children was a pretty substantial one.

Zuko shrugged unhappily, as much as he was able with his hands bound behind him. “Only a little. My sister has always been...” he seemed to be looking for a word,“...precocious,” he settled on, doubtfully. “She didn't like to lose, and also thought that losing should be punished. So it was usually lose lose. For me, that is.”

“That painted a vivid picture,” Sokka said, a little baffled for a variety of reasons. Their household must have been a… lively place to grow up.

Zuko was scowling at him, like he wasn't sure if he was being mocked. To be fair, Sokka wasn’t sure either, so he plowed on regardless. “The game goes like this: the first person says I spy with my little eye something beginning with…and then they choose the first letter of something they see, and the other person has to guess what it is. At no point does anyone get set on fire, or set anyone else on fire. There is no fire in this game.”

“So what’s the point? What do I get when I win?”

“Firstly, bold of you to assume you will be doing any winning. Secondly, neither of us have anything to win from the other.” Zuko looked like he might complain again, so Sokka headed him off, “Or I could just sing another ditty. Or a dirge, this feels like a dirge day.”

“Please don’t.” Zuko sighed heavily through his nose, but no steam came out, so he was still only mildly irritated.

He was right though, they needed something to play for. Sokka examined the contents of his cell; chamber pot, tin cup, various piles of dirt and dust. In one corner he spotted a round pebble. He snatched it up to examine more closely, it looked like it might be coal, and had probably made its way down to the hold stuck to the bottom of a guards boot. “Winner of the day gets this Rock of Victory.”

Zuko looked at him, he looked at the Rock of Victory. “Why would I want a stone?” he asked, not unreasonably.

“Because it is a symbol of triumph over adversity. And it’s mine for now, because I found it. You want it, you got to win it.” Sokka waved it temptingly.

Zuko looked like he had a lot of things to say, but lacked the words or the energy to express them so instead he huffed. “Fine. I spy with my little eye something beginning with...” He glanced around. “B,” he offered.

“Bars.”

Zuko scowled. “There’s hardly anything in here, it’s a prison cell!”

“Ah ha! The Rock of Victory remains mine!” Sokka raised it to his lips to give it a victorious kiss.

Zuko continued to glare, “I spy with my little eye something beginning with F,” he said, more forcefully this time.

“Foot.”

“Damn it!”

“Zuko, Zukes, my prison buddy, my frenemy.” Sokka shook his head, amused. “If you’re going to win, you’re going to have to be creative!”

“Never call me Zukes again.” Zuko was frowning, with his lip pushed out like a child. He really had no control over his feelings being all over his face. “What’s a frenemy?” he asked sullenly. “It sounds like a disease.”

This time, Sokka sighed, although he was fighting a grin. “Just keep trying.”

It turned out Zuko was not creative. He had certainly shown a flair for improvisation and impressive, if completely suicidal tactical decisions in the past, but there was something about this simple word game that he just couldn't seem to grasp.

“W!”

“Wall.”

“Ah drat. C.”

“Cup.”

“ _Fuck weasels_!”

Also he really did have an entertainingly foul mouth, Sokka was quietly making notes on some of the more elaborate cusses for future use. It was getting harder to keep his giggles locked down. He had half expected Zuko to give up in a strop, but he had forgotten his core personality trait – stubbornness. It went down to his _bones_ and he just kept going with more and more basic and inane suggestions until Sokka couldn’t take it any more and toppled over laughing.

“What! It’s not my fault there’s nothing in here! I’d like to see you do better!”

“I know, but I’m never going to get a turn because you’re too rubbish at it! You have to be more original, _inventive_. You’re ridiculous!

“Go sit on a stick and spin!"

Sokka couldn’t stop giggling. The game had cheered him up a great deal, although it didn't seem to have done the same for Zuko who had returned to sulking. Oh well, it had been a worthy effort.

Sokka’s mind wandered back to the possibility of escape. Could they trick someone to take them on deck? Was _them_ even a practical option? It was a thought he had been uncomfortably shying away from, especially after the events of yesterday. If the opportunity presented itself for him to make a break for it, could he leave Zuko? It also begged the question, if the positions were reversed, would Zuko leave _him_? Sokka thought he might, but he wasn’t actually sure. Escaping certain painful death would be the sensible thing to do, no matter the circumstances, but Sokka wasn’t sure if Zuko and sensible had ever even been in a room together before, they certainly weren’t currently on speaking terms. If he was convinced that Zuko would just save himself, he would feel a lot less guilty about the idea he might have to abandon him if he got the chance. It wasn’t a thought that sat well with him. The stupid ashmaker had _grown_ on him, like some sort of tumour. A week ago he would have left the bastard to rot.

He frowned uncertainly at his cellmate, who was glaring at the far wall again and...squirming slightly. Interest piqued, Sokka examined him a little closer, he was definitely shifting around uncomfortably. With a dawning feeling of sick understanding, he realised that Zuko probably needed to use the damn chamber pot. By Sokka’s rough estimate it had been the best part of a full day, if not longer, since they had been out on the deck and Zuko’s hands had been bound behind him since then.

Aw crap.

He hadn't even considered this problem. Resolving it was going to be very tricky, but he was going to have to try.

“Er, Zuko?”

“ _What_?”

“Do you need to...you know?”

Zuko gave him a blankly aggravated look.

Subtlety was not going to work. “Do you have to pee?”

Zuko flushed and looked furious, but the tightening of his mouth and tensing of his body answered the question for him.

Spirits, it was one problem after another. “I can, er, help with your pants, if you want?” Sokka held up a hand. “I’m not holding your dick though, so..” Zuko went so red so fast that Sokka broke off mid sentence, seriously concerned for his health.

“I don’t need your help, Water Tribe!” Zuko snarled, still the colour of fresh Bacui berries.

Sokka really felt bad for him, this was just another indignity, heaped on top of all the others, but surely pissing himself would be worse? “Look, let me just undo them, then I’ll face the other way. You just need to get closer to the pot so you don’t, er… miss.”

“No!”

“So you’re just going to pee yourself?” Sokka threw a hand into the air for emphasis. But Zuko looked so mortified and upset Sokka couldn’t even bring himself to shout at him. He couldn’t stand it. The past day had taken its toll on the guy, and this was just the last straw. Sokka had had enough. He got to his feet and went to the cage door. “Hey!” he yelled, “Guards! Hey!”

“Stop it, Sokka!”

That might have been the first time Zuko had used his actual name and it made him even more determined. “Oi! Fire Nation!” he yelled, louder.

No one came, at least not right away. And he reluctantly returned to his seat. But five minutes later, after he had given up hope, the door to the hold swung open. Sokka braced himself, he might have just made everything worse. It could be Ro, who would no doubt pull up a chair and wait until Zuko lost control of his bladder, and Zuko would understandably never forgive Sokka for that, but he couldn’t just sit here and wait, he had to try.

The man who entered wasn’t Ro, or anyone Sokka recognised. He was in his middle years, with black hair pulled into the customary top knot of someone with rank. He wore a short close cut beard that actually covered his chin rather than the weird sideburn choices so many Fire Nation morons seemed to favour. His amber eyes looked wary, but not angry.

“Um, hello?” Sokka greeted him, it was probably worth trying for diplomatic. “I was hoping…Could you please ask if Zuko can have his hands free, if he promises not to bend?” It seemed a reasonable offer to make, seeing as Sokka was pretty sure he _couldn't_ bend at the moment. He made a mental note to ask about the sun theory.

The man’s eyes darted to Zuko where he was still glowering, seated against the wall. “Why would we release him?”

That wasn’t a no, the soldier was _listening_ , it was a surprise, a good one for once. Sokka prayed he could make a convincing case. “Because Zhao is keeping him alive for a reason, and if you look under the manacles you’ll see his wrists are cut and bleeding. It’s not exactly clean down here. If you want him to be alive and cognizant, they need to be treated before infection sets in, if it hasn’t already.”

The soldier’s brow furrowed slightly. “Prin…Zuko, if you will show me your wrists?” he asked.

Zuko looked reluctant to get up, probably due to his full bladder, and took a long moment in which he seemed to be weighing his very limited options. Then he rose awkwardly to his feet and approached the bars.

“What’s your name?” he demanded. “You look familiar.” Of course he had to _talk_ , the guy couldn’t be polite to literally save his life.

The soldier gave him a hard look, but didn’t storm off or start threatening. “Second Lieutenant Taiju. We met some years ago.” His tone left little doubt as to the impression Zuko had left on him.

Sokka sighed. “Zuko, is there _anyone_ in the Fire Nation Army, or indeed the Fire Nation as a whole, that you haven't pissed off in your very short life?” he asked, exasperated.

Zuko ignored him, still looking at lieutenant Taiju intently. “In Caldera,” he said, “you were in the palace.”

Taiju nodded. “Visiting my wife. She was one of your Lady mother’s maids.”

“Oh,” Zuko said. His body went stiff and tense, his face unhappy.

That was an unexpected twist. Zuko had never mentioned his mother, and Sokka had never really considered her existence, although obviously _someone_ gave birth to him. Who would marry the Fire Lord? Either someone with some serious ambition, very bad taste or a poor woman being used as a political pawn. He wasn’t sure how it worked in the Fire Nation, but after seeing the situation with Yue in the North Pole, Sokka had realised that political marriage seemed to be the reality for a lot of women. And he wouldn't put it past the Fire Lord to do such an…unpleasant thing.

He realised he hadn’t thought about Yue in a few days. He hoped she was okay. He wondered suddenly, if Hahn had survived the attack. He hadn’t been on the boat when Chen killed the prisoners, but perhaps he was on a different boat? Or maybe he had just been killed outright. Sokka hoped not, even if he was an arsehole.

“Can I see your wrists?” Taiju asked again.

With some reluctance, Zuko turned his back to the bars, allowing Taiju to examine his bound hands. The man did so carefully, only touching briefly to turn them slightly to see the sides. “You are correct in your assessment, Water Tribe. I will see what I can do.”

Relieved surprise rolled through Sokka’s body. Finally some good luck. But they needed his hands free _now_. He made the most innocent, pleading and desperate face he knew how. “Can _you_ release him? Please? Just for the time it takes to go ask Zhao or whoever. You can do them up again when you come back. Just so he can drink and eat and use the pot?” _Before one of your evil bastard friends comes down to watch the show,_ went unsaid.

Taiju looked torn. His eyes flicked between the abused flesh of Zuko’s wrists and the empty chamber pot in its corner. It was the first time since this ordeal began that anyone had even considered showing them any humanity.

“Please?” he asked again. It wasn’t like Zuko was going to beg for himself, and honestly, given the battering his ego and sense of self had undergone over the last few days, Sokka thought that was fair enough.

A determined look came over Taiju’s face. “I will. But on one condition, when I come back, you must return to the bars to stand as you are now, arms behind you. You understand? You must keep your word. It’s important.”

“He will,” Sokka said.

“I need to hear it from him.”

Zuko looked mulish, but what choice did he have? “I swear it will be so,” he said, with grim reluctance. There was a strange cadence to the words that made Sokka think it was some sort of oath, or something similar – more than just a casual promise.

Taiju nodded, apparently satisfied, and reached for the cuffs. Sokka honestly couldn't believe that had worked.

Zuko waited until the door was closed before he groaned and brought his hands back in front of him, trying to shake some life into them. It looked very painful, Sokka supposed being restrained like that all night must be giving him a terrible case of pins and needles.

“Okay?” he asked.

Zuko grunted and started fumbling with his pants, so Sokka left him to it and turned his attention to getting some food ready. He smashed up the remaining hardtack in the last of the water. It made an unpleasant looking crumby paste, but it would be easy to eat quickly.

Done with relieving himself, Zuko bent by the door to his cell and reached through the bars for his own untouched cup of water. He used a little to wash his hands, pouring it into his palm and heating it, which Sokka appreciated. Then he handed the mug to Sokka, who passed over the one filled with disguising hardtack porridge.

Zuko made an unhappy face as he scooped the mixture out with his fingers to eat it. “Thanks,” he said. Sokka thought he meant for more than just the meal.

“Do you remember real food?” Sokka asked, watching in appalled fascination as Zuko finished off the slop from the cup. “I really wish we could have just one apple.” He paused to think. “And a fried fish. Remember fish?”

“I like fish.” Zuko was staring morosely into the empty cup. “And vegetables. Something with _flavour_.”

“Yeah,” Sokka sighed. “We better take a look at you before they come back. Sit here so I can see the damage.”

Zuko sat close to the bars without argument and held his wrists out, Sokka pulled them through the gap, resting them on his leg while he carefully examined the injuries. The skin was raw and torn in places and looked red with the beginning of infection.

“Maybe they’ll give you some salve for it,” he said hopefully. “If they want to keep you alive, they're going to have to treat it.”

“Maybe.” Zuko looked like he was lost in thought, and he seemed to have forgotten to take his hands back from where they were still lying on Sokka’s knee. It was awkward, but weirdly sweet too, it felt a little like trust, although Sokka was pretty sure it was actually just because Zuko hadn’t slept in far too long and wasn’t functioning at full capacity.

After a long moment Zuko stirred a little. “Sokka, Why do you think they didn’t follow through?” he paused and blinked a little. “With the execution I mean.”

“Yeah, I got what you meant. I don’t know. But I’m afraid it wasn’t out of the goodness of their hearts.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Can you think of any reason? I mean, is there anything they want from you? The Avatar maybe? You are a world renowned expert in Avatar tracking.”

The corner of Zuko’s lip twitched a little. “Yeah, maybe that’s it.”

It wasn’t though. Sokka, at least, knew that. Zuko was alive so Zhao could take his time killing him. It was going to be ugly, and Sokka didn’t want to have to watch it. This would have been a lot easier if Zuko had just remained a caricature of the evil Fire Nation, rather than a person with emotions and a weird sort of awkward charm.

They sat quiet for a while, Zuko was dozing, his head resting against the bars, and his hands still in Sokka’s lap. Sokka left them there, letting Zuko nap, and leaned back, resting his own palms against the dirty floor. He didn't think he could leave him when it came to it. Perhaps, if he could escape and come back, if he knew he could find Aang, get on Appa and launch a rescue. He was fairly sure, given the opportunity, Zuko would go right back to trying to capture Aang, but he was no match for the Avatar in his current state. Or ever, really. He wondered if Iroh was still alive, if he was even now preparing to save his nephew. He wondered if Katara and Aang thought he was dead. He had no doubt that if they even suspected he was a prisoner that they would have come for him by now. Unless Aang was injured somehow? Perhaps there was still the possibility.

He didn't think so though. Sokka was a realist, if Zhao hadn't let it be known he was alive, then they would assume the worst.

He sat lost in his own thoughts until he heard the lock of the door being turned and he poked Zuko in the shoulder to wake him. Zuko’s eyes shot open and he looked around in momentary confusion. He had a red mark down the side of his forehead where it had been pressed into the bars. It looked absurd. “They’re coming,” Sokka told him.

Zuko drew in a deep breath, gathering his wits and then pulled himself to his feet, making his way to the door of his cage. With obvious reluctance he stood with his back to the bars, hands held behind him.

It was a whole procession of Fire Nation red; Zhao followed by Ro and then Taiju. Sokka stayed sitting, but he caught Zuko’s eye and casually lifted three fingers, so the extra people didn’t surprise him.

Zhao stopped a handspan from the bars and smiled, a pleased curve of his lip. “Well, this is a surprise,” he said.

Zuko grit his teeth and managed to hold his tongue, remaining still and straight. Sokka could see him shaking with the effort though.

“You can be a good boy when you want to be,” Zhao said, and Zuko shuddered. “I must say I’m pleasantly surprised by your compliance.”

Sokka didn't like his tone or the contemplative look in his eye.

“I gave my word,” Zuko snapped.

“So you did. Turn around.”

Zuko flushed, but he did what he was told and turned to face the men on the other side of the bars. His hands still clenched into fists behind his back. He really _was_ keeping his word.

Zhao looked him slowly up and down, the drag of his eyes a burning insult that even put Sokka’s teeth on edge. Spirits, Zuko was going to explode at any moment and this was going to blow up in their faces.

“Let’s see if you can keep it a little longer, shall we?” Zhao said, still with that edge in his voice. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“I don’t want any deal you have to offer,” Zuko snapped.

“Don’t you want to hear what it is first?”

Behind Zhao, Ro was snickering, but Taiju looked resigned and unhappy. He was the one to watch, Sokka decided, the one with the weakness. It felt strange to be counting humanity and compassion as something to exploit.

“I can hardly stop you talking,” Zuko said, “So you may as well say your piece.”

Zhao chuckled. “Very magnanimous of you. Very well, you can remain unbound, if you give your word you won’t bend. I’ll even leave some healing salve for your wrists.”

Zuko looked like he was thinking that over. Sokka could only see the left side of his face, and the scar tissue made it harder to judge his feelings. It seemed like a good deal, considering the circumstances, but it just didn’t seem in Zuko’s nature to submit to such a demand, not even to try to help himself.

“Define what you mean by bend,” Zuko said at last.

Zhao raised a brow. “Elaborate.”

“I might need to bend to keep warm, or to heat water to wash or clean the wounds.” Sensible, apparently Zuko _could_ be smart if he thought before he spoke and didn’t just react. Wonders would never cease.

“I see. Fair enough, I am not above a little negotiation. You will give your word not to bend with intent to harm any member of my crew or myself. No more spitting or dirty protests either.”

Zuko tossed his head a little, but it didn’t have the same dramatic effect without hair. “I don’t need my hands to spit at you, so I’m not sure why that should be included in the deal.” He shrugged. “I’ll give you the dirty protest though.”

Zhao looked very entertained, he was enjoying himself. It worried Sokka. He didn’t have to negotiate shit, so why was he? It felt wrong, like this was setting some sort of precedent. It felt like there was a trap here, hidden from view - they knew the pit was there, but couldn't see the camouflaged edges to avoid it.

“That seems fair. If you spit, bite or attack us, you will be punished severely. But as far as the bound hands go, I will agree to these terms. You can have your hands free so long as you do not bend aggressively or throw anything, dirty or otherwise, at my crew.”

Zuko looked back at Sokka, the motion obvious because he turned his whole head like a moron, rather than a surreptitious fleeting glance. Sokka suddenly realised he might not actually be able to see well, or at all, out of his left eye. He hadn’t even considered that before. If it was true, it didn’t seem to slow his fighting down any, that was for sure.

“I want something else,” Zuko said.

Zhao also looked at Sokka with interest, seeing as Zuko had been as subtle as a brick to the face. “Oh you do, do you? Why should I grant you anything more than I already have?”

“Because you want us alive, or this one at least.” He jerked his head at Sokka.

“Well, what is it you want?”

“Food, or at least some fruit or ginger. You know as well as I do a man will get sick if he has to live on hardtack alone.”

“Perhaps I want you sick.”

“In which case you can refuse my request.”

Zhao stepped up closer to the bars and looked down at Zuko who was glaring right up at him. Sokka had to give it to him, he might not have a lot of brains, but he sure did have balls.

“And what will you give me in exchange?”

“What do you want?”

That was a bad move in Sokka’s opinion. Zhao was playing games, he didn’t have to give them anything and he was enjoying taunting Zuko, giving him any opening was going to be trouble.

Zhao thought for a moment, looking at Zuko with that pleased narrow eyed gaze. “An apology.”

“For what?” Zuko asked, indignantly.

“Stabbing me, for one.”

“But I’m _not_ sorry.”

Ro laughed, a harsh barking sound, and Sokka made the effort not to slap himself on the forehead. Zuko was so weirdly literal about things sometimes.

“Nonetheless, an apology, in exchange for some ginger slices.”

Sokka held his breath. He wasn’t sure what the point of the ginger was, but if Zuko thought it was important enough he was even considering giving in to Zhao's demands, then he wanted it, and the thought of eating something that wasn’t hardtack was making him salivate.

Zuko was quivering with rage, but he was holding on to his temper, even though it was clearly a struggle. “Agreed,” he said tightly.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry for stabbing you,” Zuko ground out, it sounded like he was chewing gravel. “Even though you deserved it.”

Sokka snorted lightly. He was going to have words with Zuko later, he hadn't mentioned _stabbing_ mutton chops and he wanted details.

“Come on,” Zhao coaxed. “That hardly counts.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Zuko snarled, and gave a short, sharp bow, barely more than the dip of his head. He did not sound even slightly sorry, he sounded like he was imagining stabbing him again.

“Apology accepted,” Zhao said smoothly. He looked amused rather than angry, so that was a good thing perhaps? “I will leave your hands free, offer you medical supplies and ginger for your continued health. In exchange you will refrain from bending at or attacking myself or my crew with projectiles.”

“Agreed.” Zuko gave that short, tight bow again and Zhao did the same, inclining his head slightly and moving his body downwards only the tiniest amount. Neither giving the other even a sliver more respect than they felt was deserved.

“I’m glad that’s settled,” Zhao purred. “Now to business.”

Ro stepped up to Sokka’s cell and smiled, wide and pleased, it was the sort of smile he had been wearing when he came to take Zuko up on deck. Sokka’s heart sank.

“It’s your turn, little rat,” Ro said.

_Oh shit._

**Author's Note:**

> My AtLA Tumblr is here: https://lovelyelbowleech.tumblr.com


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